#that it’s not some unforgivable deed that I snapped at someone or whatever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3 monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you. Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

1K notes · View notes

dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

The Dancer-Chapter Nine

A special thanks to @statell for all your help and wisdom

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Nine

Claire’s dance was torturous and punishing as she released her sadness, fear, and loss to the music. Her aerials were dangerously high as she was seeking the quiet solitude of… Madu pulled her to a chair and held onto her while she fell apart again. He was terrified by what he saw her do and wondered if she intended to smack her head on the wood floor. He didn’t care if she wanted space and alone time. He would hear her scream at him, but he would not leave her.

John saw Jamie from across the store and jogged to him until he saw the rage on his face. So she had done it, and this was the result. He felt suddenly afraid for Claire.

Jamie followed him up the stairs to the office and stood in front of John like a menacing mountain.

“Tell me what ye know of it then. Leave nothin out. Why did she tell ye who she was?”

“She didn’t, in fact, she nearly had a meltdown when I told her I knew. I recognized her the night we had dinner at Omar’s and waited a couple weeks to try to understand what was going on. I asked her about it coming back from Lallybroch last Easter.”

John did not like the energy coming off Jamie and felt no desire to sympathize or placate him. Clearly, it had not gone well for Claire and his heart hurt for her, but Jamie, he could care less about at the moment. Whatever long term pain he endured would be his own doing.

“Did ye lie to me on her behalf?”

“No.”

“Did ye know she was moving in with me in Glasgow?”

“No.”

“How did ye have such a close relationship with her?”

“I didn’t Jamie. She was the kindest soul I had ever met but we didn’t confide in each other, never spent time socializing, except for Easter with you. She was very private and refused to speak about her relationship with you or her secret life. I tried a couple of times and she just didn’t answer.”

Jamie’s anger was collapsing, and he looked around like he didn’t know where he was, his whole body seemed to deflate.

“We had one conversation, on the ride home at Easter. She told me what she did to you, but I had to pull it out of her. She couldn’t cope with her own brutality and pushed it out of her mind.”

Jamie's face suddenly went back to rage as he prepared himself for another truth about this lying girl.

“She had done things to you when she still hated you for running her out of business. You and I both know there are ways of dealing with that situation that would have been much kinder. You opted for a different solution, get rid of the ugly bookstore by the fastest means possible. Yes, she hated you for it and she disgraced you by dancing in front of you and turning her back on you to bow to the rest of the audience, thereby shunning you. She said you tricked her into a coffee, and she didn’t hate you anymore, but the deed was done. She had laid the hurt on you so to speak and now didn’t know how to undo it.”

John watched Jamie’s face go from murderous to contemplative to baffled. He looked at John like he had not a clue this was going on.

“I told her you wouldn’t know that type of retribution even if someone pointed it out at the time. But to her, it was unforgivable and she was already in love with you.”

John spoke softly hoping his words would pierce his heart like a sharp sword. People like Jamie were used to playing the almighty with the lives he disrupted in the capacity of his job. A heartless existence that he fell back on when she was pouring her heart and soul out to him apparently.

“Tell me, when she told you what she had done were you thinking of her life, her heart, her reasons, or did you focus on your own?”

Jamie’s eyes bounced around the room like he was a caged tiger. John’s questions were upsetting him, and he could not face the answers he knew to be true. He felt worse and more confused than when he pulled into the bookstore, at the time believing he would hear more poison about her character. His head was spinning, and he launched from the couch where Claire had laid last winter when she passed out in his store. He left quickly, running down the stairs and out of the store. He sucked air into his lungs and felt tears coming. Tears he denied the night before when she was crumbling in front of him. What had he done to the woman he loved? He became the heartless businessman, a thick skin so natural after nine years of hurting people. As her truth, and tears came pouring out, he slipped into the man without a heart and abandoned her.

Jamie walked the streets of Edinburgh like a lost soul, finally his right mind was correctly attached to his heart. He replayed a mind video of Claire sparkling around his house, jumping on him when he came home, cooking all afternoon for his pleasure, becoming a goddess when he held her. When the real Claire finally came back to his judgment he started to hurt, really hurt, deep in his soul until he could hardly put one foot in front of the other.

Madu escorted Claire to the dressing room, looking away when she shot arrows out of her eyes at him. She felt the sting of tears when the normal smells of the restaurant brought her memory back. She sat on the couch and made a heroic effort to push back on the tears. She heard a voice. The voice of her best friend sounding sad and sorry. Claire looked up at Geillis standing in the corner, with her own tears shining in her eyes. Claire ran to her and the women cried together, Madu cried on the couch.

Geillis was the salve to Claire’s heartache and broken spirit. She coo’ed her sympathy and dabbed her eyes with a tissue, telling Claire she had a full and glorious life to look forward to. Geillis loved Claire like a sister and had feared this outcome from her confession to Jamie. It is why she stayed away so long, she couldn’t stand knowing what would happen to her friend. Now she had to help hold her together until she could start to heal and let Jamie’s memory fade.

On the other side of town, a car full of girls celebrating a bachelorette party came gunning for the restaurant. The girls were already high from whisky shots and a shared joint. They laughed hysterically and passed an advertisement for the world’s best belly dancer coming back from her time off. The girls did their best impression of a belly dancer and the car rocked with laughter. They were heading for the restaurant and a party sure to become legend.

Geillis helped Claire into her costume and gushed over how pretty she looked while Claire concentrated on pushing her tears back. Geillis sat with her on the couch and held onto her while Madu left for a bit. He took long strides through the streets, head down, hands stuffed into pockets. He felt like the world was ending because his world existed in the eyes of his dancer. He passed a big man on a sidewalk, head down, looking like he lost his best friend. That snapped Madu back to reality and he crossed the street to get back to Claire.

The pile of girls burst into the restaurant and Omar came running, recognizing the large number of girls who were here to spend money on a memorable night. One of the girls had become snarly and pissed off, telling the others how her brother had been hustled by the belly dancer here. The more she talked about it the madder she got. When the group was seated, Jenny got up and made her way to the door near the stage. She figured it was the dressing room and the bitch would be inside, counting her ill-gotten gains no doubt.

There was no knock, no warning of impending doom. When Jenny crashed through the door Claire looked up and nearly fainted.

“Claire? What the fuck is goin on, why are ye dressed like that? Why are ye cryin darlin?” Jenny looked around the room, looking for the belly dancer. There was no one else there, just Claire and some redhead. The truth started kicking her brain with a force that nearly laid her out. Eyes narrowed and she pointed at Claire as the memory of her broken brother filled her head. She lost it and closed the gap between her and the Jezebel in veils.

“It was you, ye dirty fuckin, lyin whore!”

Claire stood and tried to reason with Jenny until ruthless hands came out of nowhere and launched Claire into a makeup station. The force was so severe two of Claire’s ribs cracked in half, dangerously close to her lung. Geillis tried to pull Jenny away from her and was screaming at the top of her lungs as Jenny approached for another beat down.

Claire looked up into the eyes of her friend as closed fists were thrown at her face sending her to the floor. Every object within arm's length was bashed into the dancer’s head followed by severe kicks to the sides of her body driving the rib into her lung. Jenny stood up looking for something heavy and picked up a side table holding it over her head to bring down on Claire.

She was already unconscious. She did not feel the intensity of the blow that hit her face and brutally crushed her nose and eye orbitals. One lung was collapsed, and blood poured from every break in her perfect skin. Jenny stood to find another object and was pulled to the ground by her hair. A heavy knee pressed into her neck as Madu battled with the need to end her life. He could hear sirens coming and police were jerking him to his feet. The room was in chaos and the paramedics shoved everyone out as they worked to save Claire’s life. She was little more than a bloody pulp on the ground.

Outside, Jamie drove by the restaurant on his way out of town. In his exhaustion and depression, he didn’t look at the restaurant that had taken so much from him. He barreled toward Glasgow as Claire’s life slipped away.

The paramedics had to shock Claire three times before restoring sinus rhythm to her heart. They ran the gurney to their vehicle pushing a line into her arm, the phone to the hospital pressed against a head as doors crashed closed and the siren wailed. The ER team did their best to pull her back to the living as blood, urine, and other tests were run to the lab.

Madu and Geillis sat in the ER waiting room looking shell shocked. White faces and vacant eyes were stuck on the floor and tears fell freely every now and then as they remembered the beating and the blood. The police had questioned them at length once they were separated. They tried the usual tricks to scramble their minds as they rapidly barked questions, finally concluding they were both reporting the attempted murder of a dancer. Jenny was arrested but her buzz had worn off and her girlfriends had left without her. She wailed like a stuck pig demanding they call her brother and screaming it was self-defense.

Claire was wheeled into surgery an hour later to remove her ruptured spleen and when Geillis looked at her friend, she was unrecognizable. Several hours later the doctor approached Madu pulling off his mask and asked him for a word. The two men stood in the corner, heads bent, and Madu cried and shook his head no. Geillis thought her heart would stop as she watched him. She stood and waited for him to come back and deliver the news, whatever it was. Madu walked back to Geillis wiping his tears with his sleeve and taking a deep breath. He held Geillis’s hands and exhaled.

“We may lose beautiful dancer.” Madu broke down and Geillis held onto him fiercely telling him she would survive, she won’t die.

At three o’clock in the morning, an officer approached and sat next to Geillis. He spoke while looking at his notepad and asked Geillis several questions. He stated there were several death threats received at the restaurant after Claire was taken away. The owner signed his permission for the police to use their technology to identify the phone numbers that were hidden by the caller.

“Do ye know someone with the last name of Dunsany?”

“Yes.”

“What about Hawkins?”

“Yes.”

“Ye need to come to the station for a statement. It’s important to yer friend.”

Geillis asked Madu to stay with Claire and she has led away to a squad car.

Jenny screamed like a banshee from her cell all night long. She was promised a phone call when she stopped screaming but it didn’t stop her, and the phone call was withheld until well into the next day. The hospital staff asked Madu for the names of her family members and learned there were none. The administrator pumped him with questions to jog his memory of a brother or distant cousin to which Madu shook his head. Several hours later Madu was allowed to see her for five minutes. He almost fainted at the sight of her face swollen beyond recognition, but he dropped to his knees and whispered something in her ear, and this continued until he was escorted away.

The hospital staff hoped Madu would bring her out of the coma so she could start fighting for her life. They watched her closely after Madu’s visit and like the miracle they hoped for, her eyes opened several hours later.

Next Geillis could see her for five minutes and the two women cried and gripped each other until the nurses pulled Geillis away. Claire was inconsolable and was finally sedated.

A nurse spoke to Madu and Geillis asking them to go home and get some rest so they could be of help to her when she was stronger. They finally agreed and left the hospital with hollow eyes laced with fear.

Jamie slept fitfully in Glasgow. He had walked for hours finally returning to his truck long after the bookstore had closed. Knowing Claire was doing the dance of seduction at that very moment made his knees week and his heart pound. He had to get away from this city and his crumbling heart.

He saw her clothes and belongings all over his house and dropped into his bed once it was pitch dark and nothing left to see. Sometime during the night, he dreamed he was making love to the Sassenach, her face smiling up at him as she shattered. His eyes opened and he looked for her until he remembered, and his world fell apart anew.

The following day Jamie’s phone vibrated in his pocket during a meeting with the architect and a contractor who were at each other's throats. He ignored the call to play referee wishing they would both just disappear.

An hour later Jamie was hanging off a very high ladder feeling his phone vibrate as he inspected wiring laced through the metal slats that reinforced the walls on the second floor. He felt the phone vibrate and ignored it.

At eight o’clock that evening he was hunched over his blueprints after hours of unsuccessful focus, but he felt better here, protected from the reality of his life. He didn’t want to return to his home and see her clothes, or her handwritten notes making his heart hurt with her memory. His thoughts turned to John’s weird behavior at the bookstore the day before. He acted like Jamie was the enemy and brute that had hurt her deeply when he was the victim in this mess.

He reached for his vibrating phone and took his last breath in the sane world he had controlled his entire life.

She was screaming into the phone with what little voice she had left. Something went wrong at a party and one of the girls tried to kill her. She needed Jamie to come to Edinburgh and sort this out, get her out of jail. She was crying hysterically and Jamie ran out of his office to save his sister. He pushed his speed well beyond the legal limit and was in Edinburgh in forty minutes. He tried to post Jenny’s bail but was told she was held over to see the judge.

He asked to talk to someone in charge about his sister’s arrest. She had played the victim card on the phone and he was shaking mad they were keeping her. One of the responding officers pulled Jamie into a private room and calmly explained what she was arrested for. Jamie just stared at the officer like he didn’t believe him. The officer exhaled a long breath and pulled several Polaroids from a file pushing them toward Jamie.

Jamie looked at Claire’s face and body, beaten and bloody. His adam’s apple bounced in his throat as he tried to swallow, feeling the fear almost strangle him. He launched from his seat with the officer calling behind him, but he never heard a word he said.

The officer had seen enough to know this was a crime of passion. The girl would be charged with manslaughter and probably spend the next ten years in prison. Before he reported this to the chief, he called the hospital to warn them Jamie was coming.

Jamie jumped out of his truck at the entrance to the ER, motor running, door hanging open. When he crashed into the hospital looking wild-eyed asking for Claire two armed security guards flanked him and peacefully let the nurse tell him she was alive so far and he could not see her. Jamie went crazy and tried to claw his way to the patient rooms. He felt painful electricity hit his neck and his body collapsed long enough to be handcuffed and roughly set into a squad car.

On the other side of the world, a man’s voice greeted the caller in Arabic. His eyes went wide with alarm and he clutched the phone with both hands.

“Madu?”

The sobbing voice of his long-lost son hit his ears like a weeping sledgehammer as he consoled his beloved son and promised to fix whatever had befallen him. He waited for his son to gain control and speak to him about what was happening. The servants in the wealthy household alerted Madu’s mother something was terribly wrong, and she came running to her husband, wide-eyed and worried. “Madu, we are here loved son, we will help, tell me what has happened.”

His father could hear the sweet voice of his sister’s daughter, Kamilah, also lost to America for many years, He almost cried knowing he would tell his sister tonight that her daughter was alive, and she was with Madu.

Thirty minutes later his father hung up the phone and waited thirty seconds before barking orders to his staff to prepare for an emergency transport that would bring the children of the family home. He held his sobbing wife and told his assistant to order medical transport from America and report hourly. The staff jumped into action while Madu’s father led his wife to their bedroom where he would soothe her worry.

Madu collapsed after his father clicked off. He listened to the rushed questions from his cousin before turning his head to look at her, “you are coming too”, he said to her shocked face. Kamilah loved Claire, from the first day she stumbled into her studio asking for refuge from a group of bullies. She would do anything for her star performer and friend, except face her father.

The days passed, Jamie was tased and arrested again at the hospital, each time he was kept as long as the law allowed, three days in a cell pacing like a wild animal. Praying all night she would live to forgive him. When he walked into the hospital the third time, he was calm and fighting his impulse to crash into every door until he found her. His little Sassenach.

Jamie blinked at the nurse and asked again. Again he was told that Claire was gone. She had been taken out of the country for protection. That very nurse had flown with Claire to the airport by medical helicopter and watched over her until relieved by the doctor staffing the medical transport. The nurse squeezed her hand and wished her luck.

“She is gone Mister Fraser, never to return and afraid for her life. If you had something to do with Claire’s attack it will come out in court. God save ye then.”

Jamie looked at the fat nurse and wanted to shake her and tell her he could never hurt the Sassenach. But he had hurt her, twice he had wielded his power against her. She had reached out to him, sobbing and crumbling, and he walked away from her.

They should have been allowed the time to heal the wounds and come back together but his sister had seen to that. He drove back to Glasgow in a trance. The only thing he knew for sure is he would not be working on Jenny’s behalf. Let her rot in prison with no hope of a reunion with him.

The days turned to months and then to years. Claire haunted him, year after year. She spoke to him in his dreams and drifted through his mind during the days. He was never so sure, it was she who attached her soul to him. His soulmate, gone forever.

When Claire finally woke up from her medical coma the first person she saw was Madu. His presence calmed her, but her surroundings were screaming sirens in her head. She reached for him, “Madu”. Their eyes connected and he spoke about how he was able to get her out of Edinburgh. There were threats against her life, and he had taken her to safety.

“Where are we?”

“Egypt.”

Claire felt the ground come up to smack her in the face as she fainted against her pillows. Madu called to the in-house medical staff as Claire spun into the darkness that calmed her. She found loving hands there, to hold her close, a voice that promised love and protection. Eyes that beheld her like a treasure. She fell into Jamie’s arms and remained there for many days while the doctor tried to revive her.

Claire’s challenge was finding enough in her life without Jamie, to stay alive for. She couldn’t find anything that would make her tortured life worth living so she gave up, refused to wake or eat, making the doctor concerned for her life.

The first time she was pulled to consciousness, Madu sat on her bed and took her hands.

“By some miracle, your gift survives Claire. You must fight for that life, he or she is depending on you to fight.”

Claire stared dumbly at Madu trying to understand what he was saying.

“What?”

“It was the size of a pea when you were attacked, and survived against all odds.”

Claire’s eyes were wide and frightened. Her hand moved across her swollen abdomen and she freaked out.

“What the fuck Madu, what is this?”

It has been months you have hidden from the world, deep in sleep, but the baby grew. The doctor says you must get up, and walk, eat and drink. Please, Claire.

It was unthinkable to condemn this child to a life without parents, or a parent at least. The baby growing in her body gave her a purpose and a strong will to survive. It was a hard recovery, but she dug in and made the progress that everyone around her said was miraculous. She worked and she worked until her strength came back along with her reason to live.

Geillis reached for her phone hearing the airy sound of a caller far away. She dropped to the floor hearing Claire's voice and cried. It had been almost a year since they took her away and she feared the worst all this time. Claire cried with her and the girls tried to speak and catch each other up. Geillis knew she would never come back and it touched her that Claire would call.

Two years later, Geillis was living in Glasgow and ran to her ringing phone. She held it to her ear and smiled at the news of a growing boy and his loving mother. The women talked for twenty minutes and Geillis prayed she would not ask about Jamie Fraser. Geillis clicked off the call. Heartsick from missing her friend, relieved there were no questions about Jamie. He was getting married to Geneva Dunsany in two months. He worked in Germany, made a fortune, and was living large without Claire. Geillis would walk over fire not to tell her about his happiness.

Her phone rang again and Geillis answered before looking at the caller, it was Claire again.

“I couldn’t stop myself because I have to know. How is Jamie?”

Geillis clicked off, knowing she had delivered the death blow to her friend's broken heart. She prayed that Claire would find the strength to get through this. It was the second-worst day of her life.

Claire slept on the floor, next to her son’s bed for the next four months. Her grief wrapped around her throat first thing in the morning and hung on until she fell asleep. Her only break from the agony was when her wee son smiled at her with his sparkling blue eyes, just like his father. The pain and loss grew less painful as the months rolled on, but each year on his birthday she cried for a whole day.

Claire sat on the train, hearing her stop called out, she made her way to the door. She had been hired by a dance company in London and relocated one month before today. She was finally getting her feet under her and her confidence inched up daily. When the door opened, the crowd of people behind her pushed her out the door with enough energy to lay her flat on the smooth concrete. That hurt, she thought.

Big hands reached for her pulling her to her feet, “there ye are lass.”

She looked up at eyes so blue they took her breath away, the burr in his voice pulled her heart to his, waking her sleeping soul.

“Sassenach! Are ye alright?”

Jamie was in shock seeing her after so many years. The girl who would not leave his thoughts and dreams was standing right in front of him. They were frozen in time, staring at the face that was seared on their hearts. Claire suddenly came to her senses and quickly looked around, for a wife, who would take his arm and lay claim to him. She decided to live the rest of her days without that memory and broke away walking as fast as she could.

“I can keep up with ye easily Claire so ye might as well slow down, or give me that heavy bag yer carryin.”

Claire looked around again for a woman walking toward him. She took off again, telling Jamie over her shoulder it was nice to see him. She walked toward the exit, breathing hard from the effort. Looking back he was nowhere in sight. Guess the wife caught up to him. Coming out to the soggy day she felt relieved to have some natural reason for her wet cheeks. She squeezed her eyelids closed so she could focus and there he was, right in front of her.

69 notes · View notes

royal-writer · 5 years

Text

The Reveal - a different take

Despite the fact this is, obviously, an AU, the rollercoaster that is Essie’s mind is represented pretty spot-on to current events in Dice-y Situations.

And knowing that made me tear up while writing this. So enjoy, Ammy; and yes, I am a remorseful, terrible bastard.

- - - -

“Do you need anything?” Essätha murmured softly, her fingers carding through the shaggy fur around the mastiff’s ears. Her eyes slid over once more. Slower this time. She studied the exhaustion in the man’s face at her other side; the age not of years of growth, but years of agony beneath his tired eyes.

It twisted her heartstrings into knots. He looked so fragile, especially compared to the imposing figure she could recall seeing in torchlight roughly a month or so ago (time, she realized, was a weird construct when people were constantly trying to murder you), leaning over a table to a meal. He’d seemed larger, then. Harder. The mantle of his cloak slouched over him as if carrying a great weight.

“Something to help you rest?”

Her soft, venturing statement brought Lord Amon’s eyes from Caesar’s gentle-giant gaze back up to her. It made her other hand hold a little tighter to his. His skin was warmer now than it had been. Dry palms, a kind and delicate grasp among his calluses.

His eyes were less glaciers and drowning maelstroms of guarded tombs from then, too. He looked at her and his expression was soft with nakedness. The stripped away depths of the ocean, with calm depths and little light, but the most miraculous secret glowing pearls, creatures, and bioluminescents she’d ever seen.

“No. I’d like to just lie down and sleep,” he answered. His gaze bore into; sucked her instantly down to the very soft sandy bottom of the chasm abyss of his pupils as he added even quieter: “… I have all I need right now.”

She held her breath. The color of a sinking sunset bleeding pink and red burned into her face all at once with the blazing heat of a scorching day.

Surely she was mistaken. Surely she was misinterpreting.

He had to mean his found solace in the moment of relief. Letting out a lifetime of bottled tears had to bring some comfort, even if you felt helplessly gross afterwards.

But that… didn’t feel right. The intensity of his gaze; the weight of his words, the lingering gaze…

Essie glanced away self-consciously. He needed her? People didn’t need her. No one needed her.

Trying to find her words, she opened her mouth to speak, yet only a strangled sound vibrated in the back of her throat. Her mouth snapped shut and she swallowed, struggling to find her words as she pulled her hand away from the nobleman’s with ease.

A glimpse to him. A glimpse away. She grabbed the comforter and other blankets and sheets, curling them back to make an easy spot for him to slide into.

“I wouldn’t say that. You’d be surprised how forgettable some things can be.”

His eyebrow arched. She caught it in her peripherals.

“What do you mean?”

She faltered with trying to find a reasonable explanation. The words had slipped shamefully out, but she found no regret in them. One way or another, he would eventually know. She had promised, despite his unconscious state. He would never look at her the same way again when he knew, and that was one of the hardest things she struggled to cope with.

She was going to miss that precious smile, and his too-trusting warmth. She was going to miss the playfully teasing, the ease of conversation, the faith he shared with her as she gave her own so freely.

She was going to miss them. Him most of all.

It was a terrifying, cold, and lonely realization.

They deserved better than half-truths. They deserved better than a monster on their side.

Amon was warranted to better people; more compassion, warmth, care and honesty than she could muster. He deserved more than her frailness, her fumbling, the weak and the cowardly fright in her heart. He should have better than her cursed hands; her unease, the broken wake of devastation in her path. More then what she was. More then what she could ever hope to be, which was little and insignificant and small compared to the vastness of his achievements and the good deeds of his life and heart.

Caesar whined deeply in his throat. The canine’s forehead bumped her side as she tried to smooth out the sheets with shaky hands.

“Nothing. We can discuss it some other time, perhaps.”

Still flush high in her cheeks but not so deeply, she turns around to face the Illiad heir. Physically, at least. Her eyes did not dare directly meet his, staring just above eye contact.

“Would you rather me leave you a moment’s privacy? I can stand outside the door.”

To her surprise, Amon reached for her hands. She twitched; debating on retracting them with a nervous jump in her throat. His touch was comfortably soothing, engulfing her hands in both of his with a great and gentle care.

He tilted his head to meet her anxious gaze more directly as he murmured, “Perhaps some things are, but you are not one of them. You are remarkable, Essätha. I could never forget someone so thoughtful and kindhearted. I could never forget you.”

Give it time, she wanted to whisper, but did not. Instead she smiled as best she could.

The timid, false weaknesses was nakedly easy to see through.

“I know you are keeping something from me,” he quietly said. “You are in no way obligated to tell me. But whatever it is, Essie, I guarantee it’s not going to change how I see you.”

“You’ve given me no reason to doubt you and your veracious intentions. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and it’s plain to see. So whatever it is that makes you talk about yourself; convince yourself that you are a passing thought in the mind of others, isn’t true.”

“You mean something to me,” he concluded hoarsely, clutching her hands tighter between then.

Her mouth. thinned into a line as she worried on her lower lip anxiously.

“You don’t know enough about me to say those things,” she muttered, gently pulling on her hands. A startled gasp immediately fell from her lips as Amon strengthened his hold, cradling her hands close to his chest.

“I could say the same thing to you, yet you still offer me the same words of consideration each time I have misgivings,” he remarked. “I don’t need to know everything about you to believe in you. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t!” she burst out, appalled by her raised volume as Amon’s eyes widened.

As gentle as a bubbling brook, or the calmest breeze on a balmy day, he squeezed her hands and spoke softly: “Essätha: you are a strong, tender, and merciful woman. You’ve shown us all great kindness and consideration. Whatever it is that makes you doubt any question, it will not change my view. I have seen great horrors, I have had to sentence terrible crimes, and I have lived with my own for many unforgivable years.”

“You can not convince me to think less of you, whatever you’ve done.”

Essätha’s breath hitched through his careful choice of words. She could feel the heaving in her chest, and tried to squash it down. With every breath she dared to take, her insides tremored. Her jaw grew slack, and began to quiver, so she bit down firmer on her lip to try hiding her brokeness.

“How can you say that, when you don’t even know what I am,” she implored in a breathy croon.

This time, it was Amon who appeared speechless. His expression changed as though trying to decipher if he’d heard her correctly, scrutinizing her expression and the unshed tears added gloss to her butterscotch eyes.

“Essätha…”

She hated how her name sounded on his tongue. Sweet like honey; warm like summer.

Struggling to pull her hands free of the nobleman’s, he allowed her to at least raise them from his chest. His grip was steadfast however. He would not let her go. His gaze was filled with pleading; trying to persuade her.

He had no idea. No clue. Not the faintest inkling what horror twisted fiendish beast he was speaking with.

Her eyes closed most of the way. A wash of fear trembled over her spine, making her shiver as her lashes fluttered. Her eyelids squeezed. She breathed out deeply through her nose.

An iridescent shimmer flowed over parts of her body. Scales seemed to rise from her flesh in random intervals. The patches already on her skin; a constant mark of what she was, began to rapidly expand and take over. Half of her face was swiftly engulfed in the transformation. One of her arms was beginning to change, showing the other assortment of colors and markings upon her serpentine form.

She waited for the jerk of hands pulling away. The disgusted, revolted gasp of air leaving his lungs.

It did not happen.

Her eyes cracked open, catching the mesmerized curiosity and astonishment revealed in his face. But he did not move, and he did not retract. Even as the texture of her fingers and hands changed; the scales now beading up beneath his grasp.

He said nothing. The surprise must have him shell-shocked.

“The fallen civilization we came across, outside of the Emerald Expanse’s territory in the wilds, that was an old encampment of Yuan-Ti,” she explained. “My people. An old race of humanoids, with various abilities that allow them to take on the shape and form of snakes.”

“I am a Pureblood,” she explained, nervously licking her lips as the nobleman caught her eyes, letting the information sink in. “I appear mostly human, with an ability to shape myself into a large serpent.”

The silence hung in the air. A blade hanging over her throat, waiting to take off her head.

“This is what you’ve been so frightened to tell me,” Amon slowly rasped. “This is what you’ve been so scared of us figuring out…”

She tried to pull her hands away once more, carefully.

The Briarton Protector held to her swift, but gentle.

“It doesn’t matter,” he concluded firmly. “I don’t care what you are. You are still Essie. You are still Essätha, to me.”

A streak of tears revealed the truth of her emotions, even as her voice rose harshly with a false anger: “Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand? What I am- who I am, it’s a snake. My people, they’ve destroyed countless villages; taken lives, committed vast crimes for the gain of their empire to achieve some cruel sense of enlightenment.”

“That’s them, Essätha. That’s not you-”

With a sharp tug, she tried to yank her hands free of him, and turn away.

“Isn’t it? I am one of them. I was born with the curse of their vile nature; their inherited sense of darkness, the inescapable demise I bring to everything around me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave it at that, and leave me be. Or ask me to leave. Or simply tolerate me, until this is through, and cast me aside because it’s what’s good for you-”

Amon let go of her hands so suddenly, she felt a sense of shocking vertigo. The cold washed upon her like a blizzard.

She was abandoned, as she feared. Alone. Rejected. Unwanted.

This was for the best. As much as it made her hurt, it would keep him safe.

It felt like her very heart was fissured with cracks. She’d thought she’d gotten used to this forsaken, lonely life, but it still burned like dry ice. A secluded disaster. A broken thing. An unfortunate little monster.

Essätha let out a deeply startled exhale as Amon’s hands took hold of her face. He steadied her gaze upon him. Her cheeks gently cradled in his palms, the cascading drops of her tears flowing to slip between his fingers.

Caear whined loudly in the tense silence that ticked by. It felt like an eternity, with her heart stuck in her throat.

“Don’t run away from me, Essätha.”

She shuddered from the husky, ragged plea in his voice. Her heartbeat leapt and stuttered.

“… Run away from me, then,” she encouraged, her voice tiny and afraid.

He knit his eyebrows together, shaking his head. “No,” he replied with absolute resolve. “No. I’ve nothing to fear. This changes nothing. You are still the same woman I met back in Harthstrom, with the same giving heart, and the same gentle soul.”

“I don’t care about what all the books and people of the world say about Yuan-Ti; that is not you. No two people are alike, Essie; not of the same race, not of the same species, not even in the same flora. You are no monster. You are Essätha Meduza.”

“… Why are you okay with this?” she whispered, voice cracking. It made no sense. He should be spitting at her; degrading her, revolted by her. He should be disgusted and afraid. He should want nothing to do with her.

Instead she was sighing, feeling the flutter of a foreign feeling as her lord tisked in response, and carefully wiped away a few stray tears with his thumb. His touch was incredibly tender, and it made her stomach roll with sickness at how undeserving she was of it.

The dark blues of his eyes swallowed her whole as she stared back into them.

“Because it doesn’t change who you are,” he explained quite calmly. “I’m not going to apologize for caring about you, Essie. I’m not going to leave you just because you are a Yuan-Ti.”

“But I’ve lied to you,” she reminded him, her hands reaching up to grasp his forearms. The tears swam back to the surface, falling over the edge.

“I lied about who I was.”

“Because you were scared,” he noted with understanding, using the pad of his digit to wipe away another tear. “I didn’t come forth to reveal all of myself to any of you initially, either. Everyone has the pieces of themselves they want to keep private. It changes nothing. This changes nothing.”

With her lower lip no longer beneath her teeth, it trembled violently as she swallowed against the tightness of her throat.

Essätha still felt no reassurance in her core, even now that he knew. She was still a ticking time bomb. She was still a mess; a massacre waiting to happen, a series of unfortunate events. She’d crawled and slithered and climbed and fallen so many times to keep herself moving forward, even though it always felt like she was being dragged back, setback after setback.

Give it time, and he would learn to resent her for one way or another, just as the rest of the world did. She could only hold on so long until she fucked up in some way that he would never be able to look at her again without curling his lip. She would run, or she would break, or she would bring a catastrophe that left her unharmed, or simply wounded, and everyone else would take the brunt of her mistakes, over and over and over again.

It didn’t matter how much he could forgive her, or accept her, now. As sweet as he was; as polite and wonderful and beautiful as his soul was the rest of him, it would not endure forever. Things like her, they were not granted safety and happiness forever.

“What if there’s more wrong with me, than this?” she dared to ask; her voice cracking.

Lord Amon gave her the most endearing and treasured smile she’d ever seen. It disarmed her totally. Her body leaned into his, craving something she should not, and could not have.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” the nobleman assured her calmly. “You are as you were born as, and you are splendid just the same.”

He doesn’t understand, she realized with a twinge of agony. But he would. The more he saw; the more he heard, the more he learned about her, the things she’d done, how she survived, what others had to witness because of her…

I don’t want to let go of him. Not yet.

What did he have that she craved; that she longed for? She felt it beneath his gaze. The way her very being just wanted to collapse, to give in, to confidently accept that when he said he cared, that he meant the words no matter rain or shine.

She wanted to feel worthy of the light glinting softly beneath his eyes, the persevering goodness in his arms, the integrity of his character. She wanted to be worthy of his presence, and of his friendship.

But she knew she was a disgrace; flawed, and righted to none of his chivalry.

Essie wanted to argue that there was more to it, then this. That there was more to her than what she was that held her back; that haunted her nightmares. If he could see right through her, straight into her past, he could see all the wrongs. All the people left behind. All the crumpled heaps of bodies left to rot. All the people she betrayed; all those she stole from, all the things that showed what she really was.

Pulling on his arms, she urged him to gradually take his palms from her damp face. The stiffness in his forearms revealed just how reluctant he was to do so.

For just a moment, she wanted to enjoy this acceptance. She wanted to memorize the warmth in his gaze, but not the concern. She wanted to remember how it felt like to feel almost-seen, almost-normal, and see someone look at her like she mattered. Let this moment be a memory of something she could hold when it was frigid, dark, and lonely in the night; rain pounding at a creaky window, so she could pretend to get some rest while the grinning moon laughed down at her beneath breaks in the clouds.

“Essätha,” Amon breathed, emphasising each syllable of her name in a soft drawl. The way he looked at her, she suddenly felt very fragile, and very exposed. Something in his gaze seemed to see something unspoken in her, and he appeared overwhelmed with perturbation. He looked very much shaken, for a reason she could not identify.

“You are the strongest woman I have ever known, and I don't want to lose you. Not over this.”

A hum of understanding echoed in her throat. As her lips twitched into a smile; true but painful in her aching heart which already was mourning the loss, she held to his hands firmly. Her fingers worked against his, finding the spaces between. Her digits fit there perfectly.

“You’ve nothing to fear there,” she replied softly. “You have me. For better or worse.”

He pulled her in to him, gently. She came along without a struggle, finding the inviting blanketing of his sturdy arms and chest an invitation to safety.

“Thank you.”

His breath tickled along her hair as he pressed his face against her shoulder.

Gods, she longed for this moment to last. Wrapped up in a snug cocoon, she had her arms just as tightly around him as he did her. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his clothes; clinging, desperate, wanting shamelessly until she forced the aching quivering of her muscles to relax enough to rub his back.

She tucked her face into his jerkin. The smell of his clothes and skin brought her back to Boar’s Tusk, sleeping peacefully with him behind her, the sound of his snoring in her ear and an arm draped over her hip.

The intimacy of the moment she appall her. She should know better, but she held to both that moment, and this, with equal measures of passion and craving. Pining for the companionship that would not remain. Friendship she did not deserve. The benevolence of him that was her salvation; how he felt more real and authentic and true than anything else in the world ever did.

Essie sank into his hold fully, and he nurtured her so gently in his embrace, she never second-guessed his intentions or the devote affections of his words.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Let this be a recollection to last a lifetime.

#royal writes #Essie rw #amon illiad #suggested essamon but not quite

1 note · View note

dreadhaus-literature · 5 years

Text

{Valentine’s Collection} #8

“I know you’re mad at me right now, but I can’t wait any longer.”

Monica paused, sitting in front of her vanity mirror. Her lipstick, blood red and all the more tempting for it, was near her full, pouty lips but her attention wasn’t on finishing her make-up. It was on her...well. What he was, was complicated.

Alexander Luthor, known more prominently as Lex Luthor, shrugged into his tailored suit jacket with a snap of strong hands and a roll of broad shoulders. He didn’t miss the way Monica’s eyes appreciated his muscled physique, even if there was a touch of begrudging contempt lighting the depths of emerald. He’d learned to live with that, with the fire that sometimes turned her sweet voice to venom when she spoke to him--he deserved it, he knew he did. He was a son of a bitch and he had been for the majority of time she’d known him. It wasn’t until recently that he’d tried to be different...to be better. He couldn’t blame her for not trusting him to be sincere. Why should she? He hadn’t always been. He was an ambitious man from a line of ambitious, bastardous men and why should anyone ever expect him to be anything different?

Initially, Lex hadn’t wanted to be. The only reason Monica was in his penthouse was because he’d kidnapped her--yes, it was wrong, and yes, he knew it was wrong but he couldn’t make her listen to him any other way! He’d tried the civil way, the way of a superhero, but she’d always slam her door shut, pull her blinds, ignore him trying to call her or talk to her on the sidewalk. Lex knew it was because she was mistaking what he was after; she wasn’t the Lois Lane to his Clark Kent--Lex may be a Superman but he wasn’t trying to be Clark. He was trying to be better. It was just...everyone always assumed he was simply trying to be better than Clark but that wasn’t the full truth. No, the full truth he couldn’t get anyone to listen to--

Lex was trying to be better than himself, and he was a smart enough man to know the only way to do that was with Monica by his side.

It was comparable, he had to admit, because Clark would say he was only a good man because he had Lois. Lex was fine to admit he was only a good man because of Monica, because he wanted her to look at him the way the world looked at Superman. He didn’t know when it happened, when he started to care more about the way she saw him than anyone and everyone else, but it had. Suddenly the world with all it’s billions of people, their adoration meant nothing if Monica was still turning her nose up at him. No matter what he did, who he saved, she never smiled at him. She never told him good job, she never seemed impressed--and for a man with a sizeable ego like Lex, it was a sucker punch every time. The more she denied him her praise, her love and support, the more he craved it. The League had accepted him at one point, he was an established superhero with a war suit that made him every bit as super as Superman needed to be, but when the crowds thinned and Lex was alone, the only thing he could think of was Monica and the way she didn’t love him the way she loved the others.

In the full-length mirror, Lex adjusted his bow-tie and kept his proud posture, his statement hanging in the air while he waited to see if Monica would speak to him. He understood she was mad, she often was but given her situation he wasn’t upset with her about that. He’d stolen her freedom in a fool’s attempt to show her he was a better man, now. He didn’t seem to understand that his act of kidnapping her was detracting from that, but he was...he was a man obsessed with the idea of fixing his broken reputation with her. Why? He didn’t know. He was a man of science, of business, from worlds of logic but love and obsession defy logic. You can’t plug in an equation to understand why you love someone. That isn’t how it works. And while Stockholm Syndrome might wear Monica down eventually, might earn her his love by offering her no other choice, would he still count that? Lex didn’t know. All he knew was that he was happiest when she was with him, and that justified what he’d done, the unforgivable act that brought him right to the brink of being a super-villain again. He was a good man when he tried, but he couldn’t stand up to what he felt, what he wanted, what he needed most in the world. And how could he tell her? He tried. He bought her gifts, diamonds and pearls and silk dresses; he filled walk-in closets with the finest clothes in the world, anything and everything she could possibly want. He bought her sweets, hired 5 star chefs to cook for her anytime she wanted anything. He bought her exotic pets and bought out the rights to any movies she wanted to see, screening them in their penthouse so she wouldn’t have to leave--but that was the one thing he couldn’t give her. Freedom. He couldn’t let her walk out his door because she took the light with her when she was gone. What put the S on his chest, what gave him hope, what made him super was not the suit and it was not his good deeds.

It was her.

“What can’t wait?” Monica finally snapped, her tongue worse than a whip but Lex was a slave for it all the same. Anytime she spoke to him, it didn’t matter what she said, he hung on every word. She turned from him back to her own beautiful reflection in the spotless mirror, applying her lipstick with a feminine touch. “I know we aren’t leaving the penthouse, so you have...well let’s see, however long you’re planning to keep me here, to ask me whatever stupid ass thing you’ve got to ask.”

She was right, of course. Lex couldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let her go, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she would likely tell all the other superheroes what he’d done. She would ruin his tentative reputation as one of Earth’s Supermen but that wasn’t why he kept her here. That wasn’t why he locked her away in the tallest tower of Metropolis. The reason was far more simple; he loved her and he wanted her to be with him. The problem with that reasoning was that she didn’t believe him. Lex didn’t know if that was because he was terrible at showing his love (he didn’t exactly have an exemplary model to follow, but he felt he did his best) or if the act of kidnapping canceled out every other thing he did. The one thing she wanted, her freedom from him, he couldn’t give her. He’d apologized, holding her stiff, unwilling body at night in the bed he forced them to share. He’d told her over and over again how sorry he was that he couldn’t get her out of his mind, that his love for her was clipping her wings but that he would make it up to her any way he could. She never asked him for anything in those moments and she never said she forgave him, either--but that was okay. Lex took Monica in whatever way he could get her, and after she fell asleep, he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent and fighting the urge to quietly weep for how badly he wanted her to love him back. Every bone in his body ached for her, and the only time he could have her willingly was when she wasn’t aware he was around.

“I know. I know you want to leave, but...I thought of a compromise.” Lex ventured slowly, tentatively, edging around her distrust of him with affection in his baritone voice.

Monica paused in her lipstick application, her curiosity getting the better of her as she furrowed her brow at him. “A compromise...?”

Lex nodded, crossing the expanse of their massive bedroom to her side. He watched her stiffen, was used to her rejection of him, but he welcomed her closeness and the sweet scent of her perfume. Christ her skin looked softer than rose petals, draped in the blue sapphire silk he’d had imported from Asia just because he wanted to watch it caress down the curve of her spine and reveal tantalizing glimpses of thighs he longed to sink between. Monica was the perfect woman, the only one on this godforsaken planet, and he couldn’t have her, not for all the money or influence or power in the world. She was out of his reach and it was killing him, so that he nearly winced as he sank to one knee in front of her plush vanity chair. She only stiffened further the closer he came.

“I know you don’t believe me when I tell you I love you. I may not be very adept at showing it. I’m still learning to...be a good man.” Lex started, and he deserved the noise of indignation Monica gave him in reply. He accepted it, as he accepted everything else she ever gave him--he treasured all of it, hopeless fool in love that he’d become. “I know you want to leave. I know you still try. I wish I was a good enough man to let you go. That would be the right thing to do. The Clark Kent thing to do. I just...I know if there’s any chance in the world I could be the man I’m meant to be it’s going to be because of you.”

Monica didn’t know where this was going--or maybe she did, but she didn’t want to know. She didn’t know how she felt about the man the world knew as Lex Luthor. It wasn’t just because of his super-villain tendencies and it wasn’t just because of his apparent fixation with the real Superman. She just didn’t know how to feel about the guy, but he sure seemed to know how he felt about her, and that was where her problem with him came. It was easy to be callous to him, to be mean and turn her nose up at all his attempts to make nice with her, because she could fall back on that he’d kidnapped her. Some days when she woke up here in his penthouse she still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that he had, in fact, taken her from her own life and replaced it with his. It might have been...sweet, the way he was so devoted to her. If she snapped her fingers he jumped, asking her what she wanted, what she needed, what he could do to make her happy. Lex wasn’t a submissive man, but Monica had little doubt whatever she asked him to do, he’d do it. He leapt through ridiculous hoops for her simply because she was annoyed with him one particular day, and that was why she had a panda cub. Another day she snapped her fingers and that was why she owned equal share of LexCorp. Monica had Lex wrapped around her little finger and she had to admit, the longer she stayed with him, the more he proved to her that the things he said were true. Lex really believed what he told her, and she hated to admit some of his gestures, both grand and small, were slipping beneath her veil of anger at him.

“Are you proposing to me, Lex?” Monica asked out of the side of her mouth, her small hands folded in her lap. She had one leg crossed over the other, the picture of refined elegance and Lex very much felt like a King at the mercy of his Queen.

“I am, Monica.” Lex slipped the velvet ring box from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, revealing a diamond that could only rightfully be called a rock. It was a show of Lex’s extreme wealth, and it was meant to represent so much more than that upon her finger. “I might...be able to let you out of the penthouse if I know you’ll come back. If I know you’re already mine.”

Monica wanted to smack the ring box out of his hand. She wanted to call him a jackass, an idiot, a fucking moron for thinking she’d ever say she loved him or wanted to be with him. But she didn’t. There was some part of her, unnamed and unexplored, that kept her small hands in her lap, her expensive, manicured nails glinting off the room lights but even they paled in comparison to that ring. A piece of her viewed that ring like the ball and chain some men liked to joke about; she knew it wasn’t a symbol of freedom, it was literally a physical tie from her to Lex. He wasn’t offering her a way out, he was offering her a prettier cage. She should be furious he thought this was a compromise and maybe pat of her was. But there was another part of her that was starting to believe the things he said, the promises of love he thought she didn’t hear. She wasn’t always asleep at night when he told her things, whispered against her ear that he loved her and he didn’t care if she never loved him back--that he would take whatever he could get from her because like a man dying of thirst in the desert she was his oasis. He didn’t care if she wasn’t really his, because he was already hers and would be until the day he died.

Lex would be easier to hate if he was as barbaric with her as he was with everything else in his life, but he wasn’t. Lex treated her like a flower, a lily beneath a glass case that only he could remove. He may have kidnapped her but he didn’t disrespect her. He never violated her, never breached her trust. They shared a bed but he’d never crossed that line she’d drawn in the sand. He bribed her for kisses, traded affection with gifts but she didn’t hold that over his head. How could she? He seemed to come alive when she kissed him, when she let him hold her hand. Monica was angry with Lex for some things but she wasn’t heartless and she couldn’t bring herself to be openly mean to him. Why couldn’t he abuse her? Mishandle her? Treat her poorly so she would have a reason to hate him? No matter what she said, what she did, no matter how she held herself at arm’s length and refused to give him her all, he didn’t cross the line that would allow her to hate him and refuse him forever. Lex proved he loved her by never going to that point of no return. He proved he loved her through actions that were softening her up slowly, like sunlight flooding a garden with a single flower in it. Eventually, no matter how the flower feels, it’s petals will open.

“I’m not...going to take that ring right now.”

Lex felt her rejection and he lowered his gaze, trying to steel his heart from it, but she was the only person who could get beneath the armor he always wore. It hurt, no matter how he’d prepared himself for it. What a fool he’d been, thinking he deserved her. This was what he deserved.

Monica sighed softly. “...Lex, look at me.”

Lex did as she asked. He always did.

“I said right now.” Monica slowly closed the lid on the glittering diamond ring. “You tell me you want to be Superman. You compare yourself to Clark every day and the worst thing you could possibly do is exactly that. You’re not Clark. You’re Superman but you’ll never be Clark Kent.”

“Sweetheart, you can just say no, you don’t have to--”

“I’m not saying this to hurt you.” Monica interrupted Lex’s quiet, defeated tone, and she held her gaze to his steadily. He could see the truth on that beautiful face of hers. “I...know I act like I don’t give a shit about you and how you feel but I do. I see you trying. I believe what you tell me, so I’m going to do you a favor and let you in on a little secret.”

Lex leaned forward subconsciously, even as her fingers found his bow-tie and gave a soft tug. She was so petite in comparison to him that he was able to meet her gaze even on his knee.

“If you want me to love you, be Lex.” Monica’s fingers were taut against Lex’s collar, her painted lips so near his that he was openly trembling with want to claim them. “I’m never going to love you for being a Clark clone, and you don’t want me to. If you want me to marry you, then you’re asking me to be Mrs. Luthor, not Mrs. Kent. Earn it.”

Lex exhaled shakily, his entire being so affected by her closeness that he had to place his large hands on either side of her crossed legs, bracing himself on her chair. This little woman was his entire world and everything in it, and if she wanted a reason to be Mrs. Luthor, well, that he could give her.

It was true, Lex was strong enough to force his ring upon Monica’s finger. He’d forced his way into her life, after all, and he forced her to stay in his life day after day--but the truth was, he didn’t want to have to force her hand in this. This was something he wanted her to give freely, the one thing he didn’t want to look back on and remember he had to force her to do--to become his, to love him as he already loved her. Lex would do what she asked, would give her a reason to love him, to love Lex Luthor, to be proud to wear his ring and say she loved him when she was asked. The fact that she hadn’t thrown the ring in his face or laughed at him was enough to send him over the moon and he shifted, full of need and unable to take the space between them.

“Can...Can I kiss you?”

Monica wanted to hate Lex for that he often asked her permission for affection (not always, sometimes he just couldn’t help himself and the control snapped) but it was one thing that helped endear him to her. She nodded, a little flustered at the raw need in his eyes.

“Good girl, come here,” Lex muttered, a little breathlessly, as his large hand slipped around the nape of her neck and pulled her in for a heated, claiming kiss. He poured his everything into the affection, all his love, his adoration and need, the raw way he wanted her with every fiber of his being. Monica was his world and she would be able to tell with this kiss alone, sealing his promise in a way she would feel long through dinner. He didn’t pull away to deliver it, speaking against her swollen lips. “I’ll earn your yes, I swear.”

The truth was...Monica knew he was right.

#{theme} : for monica #{collection} : 14 days of valentine's #{character} : lex luthor #{ haha i know monica doesn't know how she feels about ol' boy }#{ but i'm a tart and i'm always out to open doors she wants to stay shut }#{ besides i needed someone she'd actually be mad at }#{ he seemed a solid choice lmao }

5 notes · View notes

bacscruise · 5 years

Note

For your RWBY post. I don't think you understand the mindset of the characters. They don't know who to trust. Ozpin lied to them. Then Qrow make a step forward seemingly in defense of Ozpin. They don't know if he would try to physically stop Ruby from asking her question. I wouldn't call it putting him in his place, but I think they reacted to the tension of the situation so Ruby could ask her question without being physically interrupted which Ozpin showed he was willing to do.

Being physically threatened by people you care about causes trauma.

That was literally the message of the last two volumes, and we’re just going to throw it out the window when it comes to Qrow?

Let me rewrite the scene.

The magnificent genie, unlike anything seen before it, sobered Qrow when it proclaimed it had two questions left to answer. These were haunting words. Ozpin again deceived everyone, and this time it was an irrevocable deed. Qrow averted his gaze. His head pounded fierce. His heart pulsed rapid, unsure where to go. He wanted to blame the weather for his cold fingertips and quavering lungs, but that deceived his own emotions. This was pain. Pain over the fact that his close confident, Ozpin, kept lying, increasing ever more as the days persisted. These lies, Qrow found himself too deep within, and now they were entangling his nieces, Ruby and Yang. If nothing changed, Qrow fathomed one, if not both, would be hurt. Or worse. He could not stand the wretched places his mind wandered. Poor Yang, her arm, and Ruby, her mother. Something had to give. This responsibility fell on his shoulders. Qrow did not want to see Ruby make a mistake, yet if he idled he knew whatever occurred, he would be complicit in.

Qrow stepped forward.

“Stay out of it, Uncle Qrow!” Yang bellowed with an authority that shook even the most unforgiving of mountain peaks; her eyes ignited into a shade of blood that matched her mothers, Qrow’s sister, and thus he recognized the seriousness of her call. Qrow hesitated as Weiss and Blake glanced flabbergasted at each other.

“Hey, girls,” Qrow managed to utter before their gazes turned angered; his hands darted upward to indicate that he bore them no threat. He did not even want a fight. In the next second, he glanced toward Ruby.

“Don’t…,” Ruby quivered, her words almost inaudible as tears built upon her eyes. She was torn between desiring Qrow’s wisdom and seeking the truth behind every lie Ozpin ever told. It spoke volumes. She would listen to him if he spoke, yet her expression begged Qrow to reconsider. Ruby’s despair clipped her uncle’s wings.

No, why did Ruby shed these tears? It was his own fault, Qrow presumed, that she cried. He saw that his efforts pulled her apart. He saw how it divided Team RWBY. If he pressed onward, then he would lose their confidence. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Someone was getting hurt here, and Qrow chose to take the brunt of it. He told himself he gave it an honest try as he returned to where he had been. Team RWBY lessened their stances against him, now turning their heed upon the fallen Oscar, who fought Ozpin with all his might. Qrow stopped walking and exhaled heavy. He aimed his sullen gaze toward Ruby, which gave Yang, Weiss, and Blake an alarming rise. Each of the girls thought about doing the unthinkable, but this was Qrow; Ruby’s idol. Their fingers trembled, but they were ready if pushed to the worst.

“Do whatever you think is right, kiddo,” Qrow stated.

A sigh of relief echoed out of Yang and her friends. Qrow closed his eyes at peace that whatever Ruby decided, it was her decision and the best possible outcome for their group. He just wished to the heavens that it all worked out in the end.

—

Addendum:This is how the scene actually unfolded.-Blake grabs hold of her whip.-Weiss shoves a rapier toward his throat.-Yang’s gun gauntlets cocked and are ready to fire.

Again, first thing they tell you when getting a permit, “Do not point your weapon on anyone unless you intend to harm!” They tell you this because misfires/accidental firings happen.

There was no sign Qrow intended physical harm, so self-defense is out of the question.

The fact Yang cocked her gauntlets and pointed it a Qrow paints such a disappointing picture. She was readied to shoot him. Let that sink in.

There are some in the fandom saying there has to be a ‘For us or Against Us,’ attitude. If that was the case, and Qrow held such loyal and strong ties to Ozpin, then Team RWBY would’ve been up the creek without a paddle long ago. I’m sorry, but Qrow should have absolutely not been viewed as an enemy here. He’s had ample opportunity to leave Team RWBY to die in favor of Ozpin and chose them over Oz. The most he should have gotten was for Yang to sternly inform him to keep his mouth shut and let Ruby decide her own fate. The moment Qrow sees he’d have to go through Yang in any capacity, he would have buckled. He’s not going to fight his nieces. Yet, Yang just showed that she’d point-blank him without hesitation.

The only mindset that is is one out for blood. ‘Defend Ruby at all costs, even if that cost is Qrow’s life.’ That’s an extremely poor message to convey coming fresh off a story line that made abuse//betrayal/abandonment an integral lesson, which denounced those issues. They might not have been able to trust Qrow with what he had to say, but each of them should have been able to trust that he would not harm Ruby in any way. Yet they acted as if he was about to snap her neck and neglected the guy who did actually lunge at Ruby.

#RWBY #rwby vol. 6 #spoilers #rooster teeth #rt #rwby spoilers #opinion #Uncle Qrow #rant

6 notes · View notes

mysticalcrusadementality · 7 years

Text

Scars Along My Heart chtpr-2 What Did We Do?

Before you start reading I just wanted to leave a link for this story on Ao3, I still haven’t fixed the text problem here so it’ll probably get really confusing trying to figure out who’s thoughts belong to whom

~}{~

Waking up felt so strange, especially because she never remembered falling asleep. Her mind swam as it rode down the muddled river of nothingness, bobbing just beneath the waves for a few moments longer before the darkness receded and her head broke the surface. The first thing Frisk noticed even before she opened her eyes was that she was on the ground, her right cheek and side pressed against something hard and unforgiving as it bit into her skin. Wait skin? I don’t have any… Yes I do, what am I…

Where did that thought come from? Why would she think she didn’t have any kind of flesh? Confused and more than a bit afraid the girl opened her eyes to see that she was indeed lying in the middle of one of Waterfall’s many hallways. The sensation of water seeping into her clothes serving as further proof that she was in the last place she remembered being. Sighing in relief she pushed herself up, or at least she tried to as almost immediately her arms gave out from under her. “Ouch!” she yelped as her head smacked against the stone. “Oh great, that’s just brilliant I can’t even lift myself up!” “God what was I thinking, as if these abysmal gelatinous appendages could do anything… ” “Hold on since when do I talk like—and why would my arms be…?” Finally looking down at herself Frisk screamed, well it sounded like her. “WHAT IN ASGORE’S NAME IS GOING ON? WHAT IS THIS?” Acting on what seemed like its own accord her body shot up, no doubt the adrenaline it was feeling giving strength to her sore limbs. “I’M OUT OF THAT INSUFFERABLE ROOM FOR ONCE AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENES.” Out of the—“Gaster?” Her eyes wide as her most recent memories of meeting the melancholy monster rushed back to her like a torrent in the middle of a tropical storm. “It that, you?” There’s a pregnant pause there, no sound except for the constant drip of condensation as it falls from the countless stalactites above. Then she feels her mouth open just a crack and in an uncertain tone she hears own voice say, “Yes.” “Do you know who I am?” she asked just as nervous. “I do,” he answered. “You are the young lady that was able to enter my room. I believe you said your name is Frisk, correct?” “Yeah that’s right, good to know neither of us forgot that part of our meeting. Now for the most important question: what happened to us?” “I’m not entirely sure,” said Gaster as he coaxes her head to look up into the shimmering crystals the monsters used as a substitute for the night sky. It’s strange, bizarre really as the young woman questions why it doesn’t bother her more that this strange being seems to have such casual control over her body. I don’t get it; if this were that homicidal spirit I’d be flipping the fuck out. I should be, I don’t even know this guy but I’m not, I’m… calm. “I beg your pardon?” Frisk jumped, not expecting the question, “Oh I’m sorry I spaced out on you, did you say something?” Wow is that weird to ask when the other person is literally using your mouth to speak. And was it her imagination or did she feel one of the corners of her mouth perk up slightly? “No but I did hear something,” he paused again, this time bringing her hands up and folding them neatly on her lap. “I greatly apologies because I know how private one’s thoughts are, however due to our current predicament I couldn’t help but to overhear something about a… spirit?” “Oh them,” the woman breathed as she drummed the fingers resting on her right thigh. “I’ll be honest with you and say that this, isn’t the first time I’ve had a voice other than my own in my head.” “I see, that would explain the damaged soul I found latching onto yours like a parasite,” the last word almost a growl as he made her features twist into a frown. “What a horrid creature one would have to be to have a soul so black.” “Tell me about it,” the girl smirked. “Speaking of souls, what did you do back there? All I remember is being in so much pain, you brought out our souls, they touched and then nothing.” The young woman swore if she never had to look back on that moment for the rest of her life it would be too soon. Just thinking about what the voice was able to do to her sent a shiver down her spine. In an effort to distract herself from anymore of those thoughts she turned her focus to the tingling in her legs, wincing at the sensation of pins and needles as she shifted the lead-like limbs into a more comfortable position. The former scientist is acutely aware of the tension the topic brings her as she fidgets, the feelings of apprehension she likely doesn’t want him to know about, but pick up through their new bond regardless. It stalls him for a few seconds before he replies in what he hopes is a soothing manner; “I was attempting to expel them from your being.” “Really? I didn’t even know that was possible.” “It is in theory. It amazes me really that against a human soul, be it as disfigured as your “voice’s” was that mine did not shatter upon impact with it.” SLAP Once again the atmosphere went quiet, the sharp snap of flesh hitting itself echoing off the cavern walls long after the deed had been done. With palm still stinging Gaster brought the offending hand to their shared left cheek, the surface somehow smarting even more so at the feather light touch. “W-what is the meaning of this!” the former skeleton man shouted. “Why would you harm your own body?” “Don’t play dumb with me Gaster.” The other being within her stilled, frozen by the ice that laced her words, a stark contrast to the usually warm timber their voice had whether she or himself used it. “From what little I’ve seen it’s clear we share more than just a mind, my pain is yours and I’m sure as hell going to use that to my advantage to knock some sense into you if you even THINK of doing something as stupid as that again!” she screamed. Her fists clenched by the end of her rant, the knuckles white in their iron grip and a single tear sliding down from the corner of her right eye. Her new companion remained silent, so shocked by the girl’s rapidly changing emotions that he couldn’t bring himself to speak out loud. “You could have died,” whispered Frisk, her shoulders trembling as she fought back the remaining tears that stung her eyes. “You could have died trying to help me, to help someone you didn’t even know for more than an minute and you talk about it like it’s the same as catching a flowerpot at the last minute before it breaks. Does your life really mean so little to you?” Frisk I… I’m sorry. Truthfully after my accident I didn’t feel like I was alive at all, just a phantom watching the world go by without me for so long that I… I wouldn’t have minded if I completely disappeared. Despite herself the young woman smiled as she responded through their link, I forgive you. Just please never do that again. I promise, he told her as he brought her hand up to wipe away some of the tears that had managed to sneak through. Now I think it’s time to move on, we’ve been here long enough. I couldn’t agree more. The two would lying if they said getting up hadn’t been difficult, on top of the fact that Gaster had almost forgotten what it was like to pilot a solid stable form, Frisk was the first to notice how different her body felt. Her form felt heavier, stiffer than what it should be and thus the cause of a few falls as a result. After they had managed to balance on both feet the two really got a chance to look down at themselves; first at their flesh covered hands that had been what initial sent the former scientist into a panic. At first glance they looked like normal human hands, but they weren’t the ones that she knew. On each palm was a circular scar with a matching mark on the back, as if they had been run through at some point and never fully healed. The fingers were a bit longer, thinner to the point they were done right boney and if that weren’t enough to confirm her suspicions that Gaster was indeed a skeleton monster, than it was the exposed bone of each knuckle and joint that did it. They moved on to their legs, the only other expanse of bare skin on their body which upon closer inspection, showed a similar change as both patella were now visible. It was more than likely that the changes didn’t stop there, but neither of them was particularly keen on the idea of sacrificing their decorum just to satisfy their curiosity. Though one thing was for certain, it wasn’t just Frisk’s body anymore. Instead they chose to shift their attention towards their clothing. The once loose fitting shorts now hugged their hips and thighs, her blue and magenta striped sweater that had been nearly two sizes too big now fit their form perfectly and other than the new tightness of their boots they found there was only one other change to their wardrobe. A black trench coat that hung from their shoulders. The girl couldn’t help the amused chuckle that slipped from their mouth at the sudden surge of excitement from her companion. I’m gunna go out on a limb here and say this belongs to you, doesn’t it? Her chuckle became a hearty laugh, as Gaster’s only response was to slip both arms through the sleeves and straighten the collar. I’m glad you’re happy, now lets get out of here. And so they began their trek through Waterfall, their first steps awkward and slow but filled with determination. They knew it wasn’t going to be easy, however as they continued to put one foot in front of the other, neither could say they were afraid because whatever came their way they wouldn’t have to face it alone.

#undertale #frisk #gaster #sans #love triangle #frans #could also be Frisk x Gaster #since there aren't much out there #fusion

8 notes · View notes

illyriantremors · 7 years

Text

ACOMAF Part 1: The House of Beasts Chapters 1-13 (Rhys POV)

Chapters 1-4: Return from UtM to Feyre’s Wedding Panic Attack Chapter 5: Feyre’s Wedding & Arrival in the Night Court Chapter 6: Learning to Read Chapter 7: Returning Feyre to the Spring Court Chapters 8-10: The Next Three Weeks & Retrieving Feyre for Her Second Trip Chapter 11: Feyre’s Second Night Court Visit Chapters 12-13: Rescuing Feyre from the Spring Court

I did a thing. We’ll see if I can do more before ACOWAR comes out. Below is Chapters 1-4 of ACOMAF in Rhys’s POV and above are the links to those same chapters plus the rest on AO3. Hope ya like!

Summary: Roughly Chapters 1-4 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV. It’s mostly a focus on the last two weeks before Feyre gets married with summation thrown in on how his time has been since leaving UtM. Includes her nightmare that opens the book and some lovely chatting with Morrigan the day of Feyre’s wedding.

Hello Feyre Darling

The mountains of the Illyrian Steppes wrought a chill through my bones I hadn’t felt in years.

We flew for most of the day, listening to wherever the shadows at my brother’s back directed us, until at last the sun began to set and we landed in a small clearing between the trees.

They were close. Near enough to sent them on the tendrils of wind that carried their blood and sweat through the heavy pine of the woods. Since my return, I’d lost count of the number of rogue Illyrian war bands I’d had to hunt down and confront. And that wasn’t counting the number Cassian and Azriel had taken care of in my absence.

Today’s hunt felt restless. The outcome had been decided the moment we left the Steppes. These primal encounters never changed even if I spent the hours flying faster towards them hoping they would.

A confrontation. An offering of second chances. Bow down and obey - or pay the debt they owed for the blood they’d spilt, the debt for using fifty years of freedom to push the boundaries however they pleased.

The Night Court would need every drop in the coming weeks that it could spare. Petty disagreements over territory, among other things, wasn’t something I could deal with in the middle of a shift that sought to overthrow the entirety of Prythian.

And once Illyrian alliances shifted, they rarely shifted back.

So in blood, they usually ended.

We threaded through the trees, Cassian and Azriel silently stalking several paces out on either side of me until we hit the gap where the band made camp. It was a small legion, perhaps a dozen or so with their chosen lord in the center. An exquisite gash ran down the center of his cheek. No doubt he had been forced to earn his rank, had likely volunteered for the blood bath.

I wondered what they had done with the bodies, if they’d bothered to bury them properly in Illyrian fashion or had left them to rot in the snow.

Their heads turned in our direction as we neared close enough for them to catch our scent, but by then it was already too late. I held their minds steady from the grip of my power long before the three of us cleared the trees lining the perimeter of their camp.

My brothers strode quietly out from the trees, the swords they’d been gifted at the Blood Rite brandished in their hands in an offensive gesture, ready to strike at a moment’s signal from me.

Slowly, I narrowed my eyes on the newly elected lord and approached, tendrils of darkness trailing in my wake, my wings stretched out wide enough at my back to send a jolt of fear down even the toughest Illyrian’s back.

“Do I need to bother asking?”

My voice was flat, hardly even a question as the lord looked me over once and spat directly at my feet. “Whore,” he cursed and internally, I savored the feel of my mental claws dragging through his mind, undoing every last piece of who he was and would ever become before I let his body fall limp and ragged to the snow. I didn’t even wait. Little impulses of pain trembled along his skin and muscles in those last seconds before he gave up and was no more.

All round me, the forest rang silent save for the bitter, cold wind howling my sins in my ears.

Red splattered in harsh contrast against the snow at my feet, large sloppy drops dripping from Truth-Teller’s blade.

Azriel looked stoically at me as if he hadn’t just shed the blood of a half-dozen men he’d once shared camp with. I often wondered how he managed to lock that darkness away so well.

Slowly, he lifted a brow as snow crunched between Cassian’s heavy boots on my other side.

“Rhys?” Cassian said, dragging my attention down to my hands. They were shaking in a near violent manner.

Whore.

“Let’s go.”

“Rhys-”

I grabbed both their hands and winnowed on the spot before they could say another word.

I did not join them at the House of Wind that night for dinner.

There was blood everywhere.

All over the three young fae hooded and kneeling on the unforgiving marble floor, the dagger I watched fall clattering to that same ground, and most especially all over her.

Feyre stood reaching with a trembling hand for the second dagger covered in blood. Her clothes were soaked from merely one kill that shouldn’t have garnered that much evidence of her deeds. It carried onto her hands - her poor, stuttering hands that plunged themselves upon the fae woman singing herself into death’s waiting arms.

Amarantha sat poised on the throne calling Feyre on with praise. It felt disgustingly wrong.

Feyre pulled the third dagger and I knew what to expect as the veil was to be lifted on the final victim. Tamlin would be waiting and then our fate would be in the hands of this small human girl none of us knew. I felt like I was going to be sick even as Feyre questioned whether or not she could go through with one more murder - just one more murder, and we would all be free. Such a steep price to pay for her.

The hood lifted. Silence fell.

The blood stood out in stark relief against the resounding quiet of the room.

Feyre knelt before the third victim - before herself, her ears turned up into two stiff points, her skin smooth and blended into a soft perfection only my own breed possessed. And her body, which had become so long and elegant with its new fae gifted powers, sat strongly before her, beseeching her move forward.

And that’s when I knew where I was.

I saw Amarantha up on her throne because I saw her from Feyre’s eyes and not my own place on the dias where I should have been. This was nothing new. We’d been inside this prison countless times before and always we failed to get out alive.

Murderer.

The words chanted inside Feyre’s mind as a flurry of self-loathing and hopelessness I only ever felt inside myself welled up beneath her skin.

Butcher.

She angled the dagger at herself and my lungs screamed inside of me to stop her as I felt her anticipate the relief that blade could give her. No, no, never -

Monster.

A relief she welcomed, craved even. It was horrifying to watch, to feel.

Liar.

And it killed me to think she could see herself that way, in any way other than the determined, resourceful woman I’d met Under the Mountain who had saved us all and lost herself in the process.

“Feyre!” I screamed inside her mind, as violently and brutally as I once had to stop Amarantha from attacking her.

Deceiver.

But it was too late.

Feyre thrusted the knife into her own chest and I watched as my mate willingly committed suicide before my own eyes. Somehow, it was a thousand times worse than hearing her neck snap against her will.

I was already half-awake when I felt Feyre wake me from her nightmare.

Maybe my body was adjusting, learning to anticipate these moments each night, waking me up hours before the day needed me.

But Feyre needed me - needed someone. And so each night, I readied myself to be stolen prematurely from sleep. If I thought it might be a welcome reprieve from my own nightmares, I was wrong. Watching Feyre suffer was infinitely worse than doing it myself.

Her mind read like an open book when she woke like this and tumbled blindly out of bed racing for the bathroom. Had it not been for her own obsession with marking Tamlin’s position strewn about the sheets, willfully ignoring her distress, I wouldn’t have even realized he was there consuming her energy.

But he was there and night after night I watched her pretend it didn’t hurt her not to have him wake up at her movements, her tremors.

Calmly, I rose from bed and walked to my own bathing room that stretched wide and luxuriously off my townhouse. Most visits to these chambers, I indulged my wings in the freedom the space allowed, but tonight, I allowed no trace of them.

Sitting down between the toilet and the edges of the bathing pool, I felt the cool porcelain meet my back and waited for Feyre to finish retching... hundreds of miles away. Sweat coated both our brows. Feyre’s brown-gold hair fell against her face, a curtain around my own vision as I blacked out the waste filling the toilet in front of her - in front of us.

I wished I could see her eyes. It was, perhaps, the cruelest and most overlooked portion of my bargain with her. The bond linking us showed me what Feyre saw, but Feyre never looked at herself. Never gazed into any mirrors or wandered past lakes or meadows or reflective surfaces of any kind that might give me a glance at her face. I knew she wasn’t getting out that frequently much to my regrettable ire, so the lack of scenery in her life didn’t entirely surprise me, but the fact that she actively avoided her own reflection in the privacy of her rooms spoke volumes enough.

Redness stung sharply at Feyre’s eyes and at last, I felt her pull back and cling to herself, scrambling only mere inches away for the open window that revealed the night sky and she wiped the slickness away from her cheeks. Whatever remained was soon dried by the cool, crisp air kissing her skin.

Were her eyes more grey or blue tonight? I couldn’t remember from when I looked at her Under the Mountain, how the colors changed with her growing distress.

This is real, she thought. I survived. I made it out.

She had survived. She was free.

But still, she huddled around herself hugging her knees to her chest as though she were anything but.

Agony sank into my stomach as I felt her sharpened nails dig into her skin at the fists she’d tightened, as she gasped for air in deep breathes I took alongside her out the open window. She struggled for air, anything to feel a stasis again and there was only so much of it the night sky could provide her.

My night sky. I felt like a failure every time the stars blinked out in front of her and she lost herself a little bit more.

Real.

She mouthed the word to herself over and over again.

Yes, this is real, I thought, but I didn’t say it loud enough for her to hear.

For three months I’d sat back and watched just like Tamlin had on his seat next to Amarantha. For three months, I’d quietly convinced myself that the mask I wore Under the Mountain had become my real mask here at home. For three months, I convinced myself that the glorious emerald sitting on Feyre’s finger, the tears of joy she’d cried receiving it, were exactly what she wanted - what she deserved.

Tamlin.

She had done all of this for Tamlin. Not me. She hated me. More than hated me. Perhaps hate was too weak a word for what she felt for me. I had to remind myself of that fact constantly even as it drove knives under my skin.

If an eternity in the Spring Court was what she wanted, then I would let her have it. Cauldron knew I had done enough to fuck up her life. Dragging her to the Night Court for pointless visitations that would guarantee she hated me more, even if it meant gaining a valuable edge in what I knew was coming, would not help her.

And all I wanted was to help her. For my mate, I would yield to this nightly poison if it meant her happiness.

And yet...

Here she sat night after night. Alone. In the dark waiting for something to answer her. It was the only time I wavered. It was the only time I questioned my decision.

But unless she asked the question, unless she made the choice and called my name, I’d leave her be. This was her peace and she’d earned it.

However much I hated every single second of it and denied my loathing in the process, I had become such a coward. A monster.

Feyre’s noting of the pain lacing her palms dragged my attention back to her. I saw her fists unfurl revealing the sleek eye I had etched upon her left hand. She felt calmer now, more recovered from the incident that had transpired tonight. But her scowl at the tattoo and subsequent abhorrence flooding through her was dismissal enough.

And I knew those feelings all too well to ignore them.

Together, we stood. Together, we left our bathing chambers.

Separately, we returned to our own private worlds - she in hers and me in mine.

I had two weeks until I lost her, and likely the future of my court, forever.

The smooth ceiling of my room shimmered faintly in the early morning light as it poured in through the open windows of my room. Snow from the rooftops nearby reflected an extra layer of sheen to the light that would have been somehow dimmer any other time of year.

Though I hated having my wings pinned down, I rested comfortably on my back preferring to have them out and suffocated than stuffed inside myself, a further reminder of my previous imprisonment.

It was rare that a day went by in which I did not fly somewhere. Most nights I couldn’t sleep and so the stars wove together to form a cradle for me instead. I had missed it, that feeling of open air and crisp cool wind that burned my skin and lungs so badly the pain became a pleasure. Not even on the rare occasions Amarantha let me out of my cells of dirt and stone did I dare attempt flying. Anyone could see. Anyone might mark me for it and use it against me later on.

I knew she knew. She had to have known about my wings. She couldn’t not know after the weeks she’d spent with them pinned to the walls during the war torturing me for information. Yet it was the one part of myself she seemed to have forgotten or else casually chose to ignore while I was Under the Mountain.

There is one person who saw your wings in that court. You showed them to her when she cleaned your room...

I shuddered with a groan, the sheets beneath me feeling stale.

The Mountain.

I had to stop drowning in thoughts of it. It was too masochistic when this day already brought enough pain for me to harvest for the remainder of many winters yet to come.

Yet here I was lying wide awake in bed, my fingers tracing circles over themselves as I stared at the blank expanse of ceiling that mimicked the future I would enter into by the end of the day.

War was coming.

For three months since I’d earned my freedom and come home, my mind had been torn in two with one half dedicated to this repeated thought.

War was coming.

And the only way I could see to stop it was... just out of my reach. Barely any time into my reign as High Lord and already, I was going to fail my court miserably. Fifty years of service in those gods forsaken caves would be wiped out, forgotten among the pages of history the second Hybern figured out the key to rebuilding that damned pot that would unmake us all. I supposed if he succeeded, my lone consolation would be that all of history would be forgotten alongside whatever shitty contributions I had failed to make in a feeble attempt to go down on the side of good.

Dread knotted into the muscle fibers banding around my stomach and I didn’t know if the sentiment was mine or hers - the other half of my pounding thoughts. Maybe it was ours both.

She’d thought my name last night, only hours ago. Not only thought it, but said it.

Then you don’t know Rhysand very well at all.

The words had floated casually into my mind in a sea of emptiness I’d blocked out most of the day, startling me into pleasant surprise.

She never thought my name unless she could help it. The only time her mind dared to wander down that dark and drunken alleyway was in the middle of her nightmares, when she’d stare at that eye tattooed upon her skin and curse my name for it.

A curse. That’s all it meant to her. A cauldron damned curse.

Which was why it shocked me so thoroughly to feel it spoken off her lips, the bond opening like a chasm deep and wide for that brief moment to let me in.

...Rhysand...

She had so little control over her mind. There were times it was wide open and I flipped her thoughts over as one would the pages of a book, easily taking my time to peruse as I saw fit, something I preferred not to do if I could help it.

There were other times that it was closed. When she was so distracted by how bored or idle she was that ironically her mind felt it had nothing better to do than shut against me, entirely unaware of what she was doing.

But last night, she’d spoken my name. Spoken it and cringed even as she showed me through her vision those around her doing the same, including Ianthe, that frigid High Priestess better suited to a brothel than a temple altar.

Reflexively, I stretched my fingers wide allowing the stretch to pull the curse out of me. I had no love for Ianthe and her schemes, but it shamed me all the same to condemn her to the same names I had resorted to for the sake of my court.

Whore.

Perhaps that was what my mate called me in her mind when she tried not to think my name. She certainly hated me enough to use it. Everyone else did. My name was sure to be a curse inside her mind, one she would spend the rest of her life avoiding, already did avoid every time she stared at her tattoo and prayed I had forgotten her with such loathing and desperation, I sometimes forgot my place and plummeted straight out of the sky.

I avoided her name too. Avoided it like the plague. It was a reminder of what I could not have even if I was prepared to sit by for an eternity and watch her myself through the bond she thought was nothing more than dark blue ink on her arm and a broken bone I’d once mended.

Most days, I succeeded at keeping her out save for those moments her emotion become so strong she was practically at my side screaming at me. The only time I couldn’t seem to avoid it entirely was when -

A knock rapped curtly at my bedroom door. My eyes flickered close with a deep sigh. Speak of the devil, I should have known this would be coming.

“Come in, Morrigan,” I said, not bothering to sit up in greeting as my cousin walked briskly into my bedroom. “As if you needed an invitation.” My voice did not come out pleasantly.

“Good morning to you too,” she said with a small frown. “I’ll try not be too hurt by your underwhelming reaction to seeing me.”

She plopped herself down on my bed lying next to me, her arms tucked behind her head teaming with long golden locks that grew brighter in the increasing sunlight streaming in from outside. She had on a pair of dark leggings and a deep blue blouse, a color that suited her well.

I turned my head enough to look at her and spoke plainly.

“I told you weeks ago not to check in on me anymore.”

She pulled one hand down to examine her well manicured nails and flicked them off without a word.

“Morrigan.”

“When are you going to stop pretending that everything is fine? I’m not an idiot. I know what day this is.”

“Everyone in Prythian knows what day this.”

“Not everyone, including Cassian, whom you stormed out of training with yesterday after insisting you were fine when he asked you why you want to get shit faced tonight for no apparent reason.”

She lifted her brows daring me to deny it. I shrugged. “I see no reason why it’s any business of his - or yours for that matter - if I want to get drunk with my friends for the hell of it.”

“For her, you mean. For Feyre.”

Feyre.

And there it was. Morrigan was the one constant in my life capable of always dragging the truth out of me. She didn’t even need the aid of her magnificent gifts or charm to do it. Sheer will and nagging were enough alone.

“And I think you mean friend, singular, not friends, seeing as how no one else was invited to your little escapade tonight.”

I snorted and a ghost of a smile almost graced my face. “I suppose that’s why you’re here now, is it? To tell me how much you long to take care of two sick puking Illyrian males for the evening. And you can spare me the trouble of trying to convince me Azriel actually wants to be there for that.”

My brother would sooner have dinner alone with Amren than turn up to watch me become a morose drunk. Azriel spent his life among the shadows. He didn’t need to deal with my self-indulgent pity party on top of that.

“Azriel can take care of himself anywhere, as you damn well know,” Morrigan said, her eyes hard as steel, ever ready to defend her preferred Illyrian. “And he’d be there in a heartbeat,” she drummed her fingers on my chest for emphasis, “if you asked him and you know it. As I would too.”

I sighed, but didn’t say anything, my attention returned to that blank, blank ceiling above us.

Because of course she was right. That’s what was so annoyingly perfect about her and why we had all clung to her like honey for the better part of near on six hundred years.

“Rhys,” Morrigan said, propping herself up on one elbow, her voice softening. “It’s not too late, you know. She doesn’t marry him until sundown.” I didn’t have to ask who she’d spoken to for that intimate piece of information. “You could go and get her.”

“And say what, precisely? ‘Remember me? The man who got you drunk for three months, tortured you, taunted you, and pushed you into a bargain you didn’t want when I could have just been nice and saved you without asking anything in return? We’re mates and I’d love it if you didn’t marry the High Lord of Spring that you risked everything for. How does that sound?’“

Morrigan pursed her lips and bobbed her head a bit considering. “That’s an... interesting way to do it, but you might find a more subtle approach to yield better results.”

“Your suggestion, oh Queen of my wretched court?”

Mor smirked like a tiger. She liked that one and it seemed to put the next idea in mind.

“Why don’t you try starting with ‘Hello, Feyre darling.’ Someone once told me that one garners quite the reaction out of her.”

“Why do I tell you these things,” I said shaking my head. “You are impossible.” Morrigan laughed.

“So are you. Must run in the family.”

I was too miserable to return the laugh.

“Sundown.”

“Sundown,” she confirmed even though I already knew that detail, had been given every detail of this weeding right down to the lace design of the doilies they would set the tea kettles on. Azriel had given me all of that and more.

She would marry at sundown, when I’d go find Cassian and likely watch Feyre marry herself away, taking the easiest, albeit still perilous, path towards stopping an impending war away from my court along with my mate. In my drunken state warping the barriers of my mind, I’d likely see everything as it happened and hopefully forget it all by morning.

The Cauldron was cruel.

Perhaps a night of obnoxious drinking with my brother wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Sunlight filtered the room in full force now. Morning was here which gave me a long time to decide how much revelry I would be up for come nightfall.

“Morrigan.”

“Yes, Rhys,” my cousin replied thoughtfully.

“What are you doing today?”

“Hmm,” she said, a little hum in her throat. Her hips gave a scoot on the bed knocking into mine teasingly. “Hanging out with your sorry ass, I’d imagine.”

If only Feyre was never this alone. She might be here already.

Despite how much I liked to complain about my dear cousin, having Morrigan around for the day was more comfort than I cared to admit.

The only one who knew. The only one I’d told. Not even Amren knew everything that had transpired under that rock of dirt that cut Prythian in half.

By now, my inner circle knew strictly the facts. Feyre was a mortal who had willingly come into the lion’s den and offered herself already dripping in blood and bait to save Tamlin and break the curse on our world. After defeating three brutal tasks to free the fae she had grown up despising, she solved Amarantha’s riddle only to be killed at the fae queen’s hands anyway and wind up miraculously remade into one of our own. A High Fae lady among us with the spark of seven High Lords in her blood where once a human huntress had been.

And that was where the knowledge stopped. No one knew who she was to me. No one knew how deep the bargain on her tattooed hand now ran. No one knew what torment those three months had wrought on her still human heart, the one keeping her sane despite what she thought.

Feyre Cursebreaker was whispered throughout Prythian. Even the fae of Velaris, my own sanctuary I had struggled for centuries to keep hidden from the world, spoke of her. Their savior, she was hailed and rightfully so.

But never their Lady. Never their queen. And certainly never my mate.

I knew the second I saw Morrigan waiting for me on that balcony when I came home that I would keep it all locked away from them. I told Morrigan because I had to. I had to tell someone and she just happened to be there for me, the right person when I’d needed her. Had it been anyone else...

The relief at seeing her was... overwhelming, to say the least.

The words fell out of my mouth in droves I couldn’t contain. We didn’t move until I’d spat the entire story out at her, her eyes grown wide from shock as she watched me fall apart. I hadn’t even given her time to embrace me before I was gasping She’s my mate, my mate, my mate - she’s my mate at her over and over again and she had no idea who I was even referencing.

The last time I’d seen my cousin, I’d been dressed in my finest mask, the essence of power and might and all that I ever was and I’d returned home to her a mess. She had pleaded to go with me, had said I needed someone at my side that night to keep me from ripping my hair out all evening. I’d almost let her come. I would have been utterly fucked if I had.

And I vowed never to let the others see it. The second my story was done and I let Morrigan winnow us home to Velaris, I felt a hole inside of me close for none to pass through. Close, but a gaping pit remained beneath it waiting for the stitches holding it shut to burst open.

I wouldn’t let it.

We spent most of this day in quiet silence, content to remain at the townhouse for most of the morning before taking to the streets of Velaris and breathing in the fresh air. We walked for hours, never saying more than was necessary. Her presence was enough.

Occasionally, Morrigan would touch my wrist or squeeze my shoulder, but she never pried. Not once.

Not until we came home and stood on the rooftop watching the sun begin its descent towards the tips of the horizon. It was nice to stop and be idle for once. A day of walking had wormed a sick, nauseated feeling into my gut that was becoming harder and harder to ignore the longer we went.

“Cassian will be here soon,” I said. I stood stiffly with my feet apart and arms crossed over my chest.

“Is that a dismissal?” Morrigan said with little inflection. Stay or go, she would accept my request.

“It’s never a dismissal. You know that.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and smirked up at me. “I’ll try to remember that the next time we bicker over dinner or you get invited to a big party in someone else’s court.”

“That’s your own doing and you know it.”

Morrigan leaned up and kissed my cheek before turning for the door. “Say hello to Cass for me.” Her voice darkened and I felt her grow deadly serious. “He’s worried about you, you know. We all are. Your mask doesn’t fool everyone, Rhys. And this isn’t Amarantha’s court anymore. You needn’t always be so guarded.”

“I’m not so su-”

“Feyre?”

The words died in my throat. The barriers of my mind cracked open like lightning ripping the heavens apart as I saw through her eyes miles and miles away from me.

Tamlin was standing feet from Feyre, his arm outstretched towards it as she struggled in vein to convince her to take his offered hand.

Help me, help me, help me, she begged - pleaded so pitifully in her mind, her body begging her tongue to make use of the thought and turn it into some kind of action. I saw through her eyes, took advantage of the window she’d opened for me and surveyed the scene.

High Fae - hundreds of them - sat around her gawking whilst red rose petals that Feyre couldn’t stop staring at screamed at her from every corner.

Blood boiled in my veins. Darkness spilled out of me like waves on a turbulent night sea. I couldn’t see it through the fog I traveled within between our minds, but I could damn well feel it.

The bastards. The fucking bastards had recreated her damned trials all over again.

With Feyre, I saw them the way she did. This was not an assembly of Prythian’s finest turned out to celebrate a blessed union with her. This was a human standing in a pit of mud and bone and grime while those same people pretending to be her friends now stood around the perimeter of her cage and watched her fight a creature from the bowels of hell itself that she could never hope to kill. This was a girl who had no education, had never learned to read standing before a riddle she could not decipher while her only friend cried out behind her and these fools applauded feet above her head. This was the girl who had stained her soul with blood and death for the sake of the man she loved and earned only the cruel snap of her neck in return.

Save me - please, save me. Get me out. End this.

This was Under the Mountain all over again. Feyre was relieving it in the full light of day, but this time, the mask was pulled off and she was forced to see it as a blessing.

But her happiness, her happy ending... no one moved to help her and the solution sat there dangling before my eyes and I couldn’t move even as my heart tore itself to shreds watching her panic rise to a breaking point. I couldn’t take her future away from her, not unless she -

No.

Tamlin stepped forward and Feyre recoiled. No - no.

That was all I needed. That one little word. That was all I had ever needed.

I made my decision. Tamlin might be content to sit idly by and not do anything, but I would not. I would never keep quiet any longer. I would never - could never - let her suffer an eternity like this. I was shamed for how long I’d already let it go on.

“Rhys?”

Morrigan’s voice became a dull, distant memory in my mind as I winnowed on the spot. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Velaris had been plunged into darkness and storm with the rage that flew off me and swirled itself into thunderous applause as I landed in a cloud of smoke and shadow in the middle of the Spring Court. Starlight flecked the dust around me and when it settled, I stepped out of it giving a brisk shirk to the lapels of my jacket, now formal and elegant compared to the casual tunic I’d worn most of the day.

I had no idea of the chaos erupting around me. I spared the guests no thought as my eyes plucked over them one by one like the strings on a violin looking for her.

And then, there she was. Standing mere feet away from me.

And she was absolutely horrified at my appearance, but I didn’t care. Seeing her there standing in that dress that drowned her out and stole her voice, I felt a flicker of happiness for the first time in months.

My mask - that cruel mask of the wicked High Lord of Night hated and despised by all - was fitted tightly around me once more, but after fifty years of wearing it and three months of struggling to remember who I was without it, it felt like a comfort, a road I knew how to navigate that would get me... somewhere. Anywhere that was closer to her.

I looked at Feyre dead in the eye and the words sprang immediately to my lips in a rich, soothing purr that felt immediately familiar.

“Hello, Feyre darling.”

All around me, everyone screamed.

#feysand #feyrhys #acomaf #feyre #rhysand #feysand fanfiction #feyrhys fanfiction #morrigan #acomaf fanfiction #myfic

749 notes · View notes

5hfanfiction · 7 years

Text

coming out (7/?) ⇾ camren

a/n: slight beginning authors note. after this, please be sure to check out my new story deeds of satan thats out now (cover in the media). and read authors note at the end of the story :) for my tumblr readers, please check out deeds of satan on my wattpad and this book as well @ wthbello .. thanks for reading. hope you enjoy. really emotional chapter in store for you lmaooo.

Camila|

She felt as if her heart were about to explode out of her chest. The room was so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Lauren stared at her, piercing green eyes wide in shock. Camila stared down at her lap, willing the tears to stop coming down. Looking back up, she saw Lauren stand. Her heart raced with fear as her former bandmate made her way toward the curtains.

“W-Where are you going?” Her voice shook with nervousness.

“Home,” Lauren said simply. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Camila had already gotten up. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and spoke again before Camila could. “I got my explanation. I want to go home now.”

Camila has never moved so fast in her life as she hurled herself in front of Lauren, blocking her from exiting the room. “So that’s it? You’re not going to forgive me?” She asked softly, the tears coming back.

Lauren laughed to herself before looking back up to Camila as her eyes turned to slits. “Did you really think telling me you were “in love with me” would fix anything? Did you think I’d suddenly feel pity and invite you back into my life?“ Cold green eyes stared back into her brown ones. Her breathing stuttered as Lauren brought her face closer to her own. "You can tell whatever stories you have up your sleeve to justify your reasoning for leaving other than you’re a selfish son of a bi-”

Lauren’s words fell from her lips as she stumbled back a little. Bringing her hand up to her cheek, she rubbed the slapped area. All she could do was stare at Camila in shock as brown eyes filled with tears.

“I’m not telling stories Lauren. I’m not trying to justify anything. All I want is for you to understand things from my side. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to make you feel this way towards me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry! And I know an apology won’t make things better. I know me telling you my feelings wont make things better. But I’m trying. God, I’m trying so hard and you keep shutting me down. All I’ve wanted was for you to hear me-”

“I don’t want to hear you out Camila!” Lauren shook her head. “I have a girlfriend and so do you. Let the past be the past, alright? Thank you for your half assed explanation. Goodbye.”

And just like that, Lauren walked away, shoving past the nosy girls. Camila stood there with tear stained cheeks and watery brown eyes. She tried…

Lauren|

Everything was too overwhelming. She was almost positive Camila was bullshitting her back there. Probably doing anything and everything for her forgiveness. If her former bandmate was in love with her, she was sure she would have known. Same old Camila. Victimizing herself to earn sympathy. Lauren refused to fall for it.

All she needed was the comfort of her girlfriend. Walking up their apartment building stairs, she fished for her keys in her back pocket. Finding the metal objects, she swiftly opened the door and invited herself in.

She was in such a bad mood that she didn’t even notice that the lights were dimmed, or the fact that a black bra that wasn’t hers laid on the kitchen floor, and hushed whispers came from her shared bedroom with Lucy. Nothing prepared her for what she was about to walk in on.

Yawning softly to herself, Lauren kicked off her shoes outside their bedroom door before proceeding to open it. “Babe, I can’t believe you made me-”

The next few words fell from her lips, green eyes widening as she took in the two startled naked women in her bed. She felt paralyzed, as if she couldn’t move. This has to be some sort of sick prank.

“Lauren!” Lucy was the first to speak as she quickly scrambled out of bed and collecting her discarded clothing on the floor and quickly putting them on. “Its not what it looks like.”

Snapping out of her mini shock fest, Lauren shook her head in disbelief as she stared at the unknown woman in the corner of her bed covering herself with her blanket.

“What the fuck?” Was all she could muster up.

The woman sitting on her bed slowly stood up with a bed sheet wrapped around her as she made her way next to Lucy. “Babe… you said your roommate wouldn’t be here for the night.”

Lauren’s eyes widened in shock as anger coursed through her vines. “Roommate?” She repeated. “Wow Lucy, didn’t know I was your roommate now. Last time I checked, I was your girlfriend!”

The woman beside Lucy facial features visibly fell before she let out a confused laugh. “N-No. You’re Lauren right? The girl on Lucy’s lock screen. She said you’re her best friend and roomm-”

A flustered Lucy cut off the unknown woman by pulling Lauren out of the room and shutting the door behind her. “Baby, its really not what it looks-” Lucy tried to whisper but Lauren wasn’t having it.

She nearly shouted, “Its not what it looks like?! It looks like you’ve been cheating on me! You brought another woman into our, my, apartment. Slept with her in my bed and now I’m finding out she thinks you’re her girlfriend as well?! You’re full of shit! Thats why you wanted me to go to that stupid thing with Camila. So you can fuck around with your stupid fucking gorilla looking side chick!”

Lauren was sure the woman in the other room could hear everything coming out of her mouth despite the door i between them but she didn’t give a flying fuck. Her girlfriend, someone she’s recently been giving her all to has been two-timing her.

Anger soon turned into anxiety as her breathing quickened and the space around her started to close in. She felt lightheaded as the ground looked like it was coming up toward her. Shaking her head, she pointed a finger at a quiet Lucy. “Get out,” she hissed.

Lucy’s eyes winded almost comically as she began rambling, “No babe… you don’t mean that. We can make this work. It was a stupid mistake. You’ve been depressed lately and ever want to do anything and well Kandee was just-”

Green eyes turned to slits as she faced Lucy. “Thats Kandee? Your suppose fucking childhood best friend! Thats fucking Kandee?!”

Storming past Lucy and swinging their bedroom door open, she saw the woman now known as Kandee putting her shoes on. Before she could even talk, Kandee began. “I am so sorry Lauren. I heard everything. I didn’t know you and Lucy were a thing, she had told me you were just a roommate. I’m so sorry. I’ll get out,” standing with her belongings, Kandee pointed at Lucy. “We’re done. You’re a pig.” With that, the tall dark haired woman exited their apartment.

Lauren took that as her cue to enter and begin throwing Lucy’s belongings out of the bedroom. “I want you out. Now!”

She ignored all of Lucy’s attempts to get her to stop. She was hurt. She felt betrayed. What made it worse that before her and Lucy, she was her best friend. Its one thing to get cheated on by a girlfriend, but by your best friend? Thats nearly unforgivable.

Soon Lucy stopped trying, going into help Lauren pack her things. Lauren didn’t know where Lucy was going nor did she care. All she knew was that she better be out soon or she herself would be going to jail for murder.

It was nearly 10 PM by the time Lauren had dumped all of Lucy’s belongings outside, already having called an Uber for her now ex girlfriend. Ignoring all attempts to reconcile, Lauren slammed the door in her face.

She felt numb. She wasn’t sure what hurt the most. Walking in on Lucy cheating or knowing that someone she’s known all her life could do such a thing. She really thought Lucy was the one, that she’d finally found someone who’d value her. That was all down the drain.

She didn’t know whether she should cry because she probably lost the most important person in her life up until tonight or be happy that she caught it and can move on before it’s too late.

Plopping down on her couch, she realized how empty her apartment suddenly felt. Normally Lucy would be listening to her rant about what went down with Camila and comforting her every few seconds. But she had no one now. She didn’t even have Normani anymore. She left when Dinah left.

She was alone. When realization suddenly sunk in, she went into full blown panic mode as tears fell and the room shrunk in size with each and every staggered breath she took. She didn’t know what to do.

Rushing into her room, she looked through the drawers for the inhaler she hasn’t used in months. When she came up empty handed, she started to feel dizzy. This was the worst night for this to happen.

Hurrying over the her nightstand, she pulled out her phone and clicking on the unsaved contact without a second thought. She had a feeling she was sure to regret this decision but she didn’t know who else to turn to that’s understand.

Trying to even out her breathing as the phone rang, she was more than relieved when they answered on the fourth ring. “Lauren?” They asked into the phone, obvious confusion in their tone.

“C-Can you p-please c-come over,” she stuttered, pulling her knees up to her chest as the tears came down at rapid fire speed.

She could hear rustling on the other end of the line, “What? What’s happening?”

“L-Luc-”

“Where are you?” The cut her off. “Text me the address.”

Hanging up, Lauren proceeded toward her messages and typed out her address to the best of her abilities before hitting send. She could already feel the regret seeping in but was covered by her overwhelming need to be told everything would be alright.

She waited, and waited, and waited. She almost thought she wasn’t going to show up, but when she was greeted with frantic knocks at her front door, she quickly went to open it.

“Laur, what’s the matter? I’m sorry it took so long. You typed of Memorial Ave when it’s really Memorial Street. Are you okay? Oh God. What happened Lo,” Camila’s face scrunched up as she took in her former band mates appearance.

Lauren willed herself to speak, trying to pause the overwhelming amount of mixed emotions from the nights previous events and being face to face with Camila a second time. “L-Lucy… she cheated on me. I’m sorry… I had no one else to c-call,” she got out.

Brown eyes instantly softened as she pulled her former bandmate into a tight hug. Lauren was stunned for a moment, but found herself hugging back just as tightly as her body shook from emotion. She clung to Camila for dear life, hoping she’d never let go. She felt Camila usher her over toward the couch.

She didn’t know how long she sat there and just cried, Camila running her slender fingertips through Lauren’s hair like she loves. She felt as her breathing slowed down and her eyes fell droopy before everything around her went black.

Camila|

She stared down at Lauren’s sleeping frame with a small smile. The last time they were in this position was during XFactor and it was the other way around. Shes not going to lie, it truly surprised her when Lauren had called. She was expecting a continuation of Lauren’s awful behavior from earlier that night with more cuss words thrown her way for leaving but when she heard Lauren on the other end, she knew something was wrong and dropped nearly everything to get to her. Literally. She dropped an entire plate of rice and chicken.

Camila looked up at the fancy clock Lauren had up in her living room, the time reading ten after 12. Wow… she thought herself. She had to get going. Knowing Lauren when she woke up, she’d regret ever calling Camila and yell at her to leave.

Staring down at her former bandmate for a few more moments, she then proceeded to pry her cold fingers off her hand that she’s been clutching on. As soon as she did that, Lauren shot up and stared at Camila with confusion. Rubbing her already red eyes and letting out a soft yawn, she gave Camila a look. “What are you doing?” She husked out, her normally low and husky voice huskier and lower due to tiredness and her extreme crying episode.

“I-Uh… I was gonna get going. Its getting late,” Camila explained, body tensed and on guard. Its best she got out of there before Lauren started up with her yelling match. She wasn’t in the mood to fight anymore.

Lauren frowned, “Exactly. Its not getting late though. Its already late. I insist you stay the night,” Lauren offered. Surprising both herself and Camila.

Brown eyes widened slightly before she shook her head. “I cant’ do that. I have to get goi-”

“Please Camz?”

Every bone in Camila’s body froze at the nickname she hasn’t heard in so long. She was literally frozen as she stared at Lauren with her mouth slightly parted an eyes wide open. “I… uh-”

Lauren huffed, “Look Camila, I’m really sorry for the things I said tonight but I really… really can’t be alone. Please… just stay.”

Camila felt her head nodding as everything within her went blank. Did Lauren really just…? She shook her head as she looked at Lauren. “Um, okay. I’ll stay on the couch,” she suggested.

Lauren rolled her eyes, “Stop Camila. I know how you hate couches. My bed is big enough for us both,” Lauren shrugged.

Camila discreetly pinched herself. Either she had unknowingly taken some sort of drug and was tripping literal balls or Lauren had officially lost it.

Camila laughed to herself, “I don’t know what kind of tricks you’ve got up your sleeve Lauren but I fucking came here out of the goodness of my heart when I could’ve very well told you to shove it like you’ve done to me oh so many times! You know how I feel about you now and you’re suddenly being all nice and inviting me to not only stay the night but sleep in the same bed as you? What games are you trying to play?!”

Lauren|

Lauren shook her head at herself. Camila was right. Why was she being so kind all of a sudden when she should hate Camila. Everything in her screamed hate her, but her heart boomed let her in. Her heartbeat quickened as she stood up, “Yeah you’re right. Uh maybe… maybe you should leave,” she said, changing her mind.

It was silent for a moment, both ladies knowing that they shouldn’t be in the same room any longer but their hearts suddenly yearning to be near one another.

Camila nodded softly, standing as well. “Yeah…” she awkwardly grabbed her bag and phone she had brought with her and proceeded toward the door. Turning around, she gave Lauren a small sad smile. “I’m sorry about what happened with Lucy. She messed up on a chance at an amazing girl and she was wrong for that.”

Lauren felt her cheeks heating up, the anger towards Camila from earlier that night slowly fading away. She nodded, “Thanks Camila,” just as Camila reached to open the door, Lauren called her back. “Wait, Camz!” She watched Camila turned around with both eyebrows raised. Lauren bit her lip nervously as she walked up to Camila. “I, uh. I have to try something…”

Camila gave Lauren a confused look but seconds later, plump pink lips were on her own. Lauren could feel Camila’s shock and nervousness but breathed out a small sigh of relief when she felt Camila’s lips slowly start to move against her own.

Her broken heart suddenly felt whole again as Camila’s lips moved in sync with her own. She couldn’t believe she was doing this but couldn’t be happier with her decision. Butterflies went crazy in her stomach as she brought a shaky hand up to the side of Camila’s face, using her tongue to probe at the ashy-brown-haired girls bottom lip, resisting the urge to grin when Camila almost immediately opened her mouth, giving Lauren access to explore. This was new territory for both ladies but they couldn’t deny the joy the felt as their tongues wrestled with each other in a battle for dominance, Lauren ultimately winning in the end.

When oxygen became a necessity, Lauren was the first to pull away, their foreheads falling gently against one another’s. Both of them still had their eyes closed as they struggled to catch their breathe.

Backing up slowly, Lauren looked at Camila with bright red cheeks. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me, I’m uh…” she couldn’t even finish her sentence.

Camila giggled softly, “I liked it,” she answered simply.

Lauren found a small toothless smile morphing its way onto her facial features. “Really?”

Camila nodded, “Yeah.”

It was silent between the two for a moment before Lauren spoke, “Did you mean what you said back there… about being in love with me?” She questioned.

Camila sighed loudly, looking down at her fingers she had intertwined together in the mist of their small conversation. “Yeah,” she answered. Looking back up she shrugged, “Always have been, always will be.”

It was Lauren’s turn to look down. Thought after thought ran through her brain like a flock of wild birds. It was slightly overwhelming but she found herself nodding softly.

Camila tilted her head as she stared at Lauren, deciding to add onto what she said. “I know you’ll never feel the same about me. That kiss was probably proof of it. But I do want you to know that everything I said was one hundred precent true. I am sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for leaving everyone hanging and I am in love with you and that’s one thing in my life I know will never change. No matter how much you hate me Lauren, my love for you will always be there,” Camila felt herself tear up as she wiped at her eyes. A dry laugh fell from her lips. “I know it’s probably pathetic, but when those stupid Camren rumors started, I never shut them down because some part of me always hoped that one day it’ll be true. That one day "Camren” would be a reality,“ she shook her head. "Its stupid, I know.”

Lauren was quiet for a moment before sighing. “Its not,” she mumbled.

Camila looked at Lauren with raised brows. “Did you not hear what I just said? I never shut down Camren rumors, even though I knew how much you hated them because I thought in my fucked up head that it’d be real some day,” looking up she laughed again. “God, I sound so crazy right now. I should probably start leav-”

“Camz!” Lauren shouted, shocking them both and successfully cutting Camila’s rambling off. “You’re not crazy and its not stupid,” she let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with your or why I kissed you Camila, but I guess a part of me has always liked you as more than a bandmate. I always thought it was ridiculous because one, I was convinced you were straight and two… I don’t know. It just never occurred to me that my stupid little girl crush would be anything more than a girl crush,” she shrugged.

Camila was shocked to say the least. To hear that Lauren, Lauren that hated her, Lauren that gave her hell for the longest time actually liked her at some point. She didn’t know what to say.

Lauren ran a hand through her dark locks, “Look Camz, I forgive you,” she started. “I was a little too harsh on you. I wouldn’t blame you for leaving. I was so awful to you those last couple of months… I only cared about me and how I felt. I just… I just always blamed you for everything going wrong in our friendship. I always blamed you for making new friends, for venturing out in your music career. I guess I was… jealous. Jealous that you could walk into a room and everyone wanted to befriend you just by the amazing aura you always had surrounding you. Jealous because I felt that every new person in your life was replacing me when truth is… I allowed myself to be replaced. And I blamed you for it, and I’m so sorry for that Camila.”

By the end of that, both Lauren and Camila were crying. Camila laughed lightly to herself as she wiped her eyes. “God, when did we become such crying fucking pussies. It went from me leaving to this,” she chuckled softly along with Lauren.

It was silent for a moment before Lauren walked back up to Camila, and pulling her into a hug. Camila was still before her brain caught up with her body and hugged back. They stayed hugging for a few moments. “I’m sorry,” they mumbled at the same time, causing each other to laugh.

***

After that emotional few minutes in front of Lauren’s door, Lauren had somehow managed to convince Camila to actually spend the night and sleep in her bed. The two now laid cuddled up in Lauren’s bed, catching up on everything. Lauren nearly forgot how much she had missed Camila but this right here brought back so many memories for her. She forgot when laughed that freely last. Not even the memory of Lucy could remove the smile on her face right now.

“Hey Lauren?” Camila called out, her head rested on her chest as Lauren had an arm draped around her waist. Lauren hummed in response. “What are we?…” Camila asked shyly, toying with a lose thread on Lauren’s sweatshirt.

Lauren tensed slightly before sighing, “Whatever you want us to be.”

***

a/n: YIKES OMG! hi okokok, well for started, im really sorry for the late update! i just really havent had much motivation lately but i finally got it back and here i am, yusss!

wow, this story had come such a long way. i remember being really scared to even put this out, thinking my writing was literal shit and no one would want to read it. this is the first story ive ever written and took actual pride and joy in it. english isnt my first language but ive always loved writing so when i got such amazing feedback when i had put this originally one shot and now series story out, i was really surprised but loved it nonetheless. this story is nearly 11k reads and it’s been such a journey with only one chapter left before the sequel ive been working on, (whoop whoop) so im really excited to that.

i just wanna say thank you so much for being patient with me on this book and thanks so much for reading. let me know yalls thoughts down in the comments, dont forget to vote. thank you for reading!!

Ronny tumblr readers, thanks so much for reading as well and please make sure to check out my wattpad and add this story to your library/reading list @ wthbello .. ily all.

also, CHECK OUT MY NEW CAMREN STORY “deeds of satan” WHICH IS NOE PUBLISHED! (it’ll be out right after this chapter) please please please go show it some love and let me know if i should continue that where it is now or just leave it be.

im sorry i did not proof read at all, i’ll do that next time. so sorry for any mistakes and grammatical issues. thanks one last time for reading. ily.

ellianna, xxxxxx

#UPDATE #series #non AU #AU #slash #camren #angst drama #romance fluff #submission #coming out

33 notes · View notes